Hot Historicals Bundle with An Invitation to Sin, The Naked Baron, When His Kiss Is Wicked, & Mastering the Marquess

by Jo Beverley

  She was in serious trouble. She took his arm, repressing a slightly hysterical giggle. Her feelings for Alex were the least of it. She was unmarried and increasing, carrying the child of a man her brother detested, a man she had misled into believing she was barren.

  She glanced up; Alex smiled reassuringly down at her.

  But perhaps a man who didn’t hate her—yet. His feelings might change when she revealed her secret.

  She bit her lip, swallowing more tears. She must get her emotions under better control.

  Lord Dawson and Grace had waited for them. As soon as they approached, the footman rapped on the front door. It swung open on his second knock; his fist almost collided with a large, gray parrot.

  The parrot emitted a loud squawk. “Hey, mate, watch wot yer doin’!”

  The poor footman jumped back, tripping over his own feet. Hermes, taking instant exception to the bird, struggled to get free of Alex’s grasp. He barked vehemently.

  The parrot leaned forward and barked back.

  Hermes yelped and gazed up at Alex. Alex shrugged.

  “Theo, your manners!” The gray-haired woman on whose shoulder the parrot was sitting looked sternly at her pet. “Apologize immediately.”

  Theo bobbed his head. “Aw, Theo’s sorry, Theo’s sorry.”

  “I apologize as well,” the woman said. “Theo was raised on a sailing ship. Sometimes his conduct is not all one would wish.” She smiled and stepped back. “And where are my manners you may ask? Please, come in. I am Edmund’s—Lord Motton’s—Aunt Winifred, Miss Winifred Smyth. This, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, is Theo. I inherited him when my uncle Theo, God rest his soul, passed on.”

  “Your uncle named his pet after himself?” Grace asked as they stepped into the grand marble entranceway.

  Miss Smyth laughed. “Oh, no, I did that. Theo’s original name was quite inappropriate.”

  “Heh, heh,” Theo said, “name was—”

  “Theo!”

  “Aw, Theo’s sorry, Theo’s sorry.”

  “And you must be…?”

  “Baron Dawson,” David said, “Lady Oxbury, Lady Grace, and my uncle, Mr. Alex Wilton.”

  “I am so delighted you could come. Edmund would be here to greet you, too, but he is, unfortunately, dealing with an…issue in the rose parlor.”

  A loud crash emanated from a room down the hall, followed by a man’s voice.

  “Damn it, you hairy little—”

  Miss Smyth raised her own voice. “I’m certain you are tired from your travels and would like to rest, so if you will just come this way?”

  She led them up the stairs just as another crash and fresh cursing erupted.

  “Good to see you, Dawson. Sorry for the confusion when you arrived.”

  David grinned. Motton looked so calm now. He hadn’t sounded so calm earlier.

  “Sherry?”

  “Thank you.” David took the glass from the viscount. “What were you doing when we arrived?”

  “Chasing Aunt Winifred’s bloody monkey.” Motton grimaced. “He is not the best behaved beast in Christendom.”

  David snorted. “Miss Smyth’s parrot has a few etiquette issues itself.”

  Motton rolled his eyes. “I believe I mentioned Aunt Winifred had a menagerie, did I not?”

  “You did.” David took a sip of his sherry and glanced around the room. He was still the only guest to arrive at the pre-prandial gathering. “Where is everyone?”

  Motton cleared his throat. “Actually, I wished to have a moment to speak to you alone.”

  David’s attention swiveled back to Motton. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Motton studied his sherry glass. “The thing is, Dawson, I delegated most—well, all, actually—of the planning for this house party including the, ah, guest list to my aunt.”

  “Yes?” That was completely reasonable. Why did Motton seem uncharacteristically perturbed? “Is there a problem?”

  “Well…” Motton cleared his throat again and took a large swallow of sherry. “I’d say, wouldn’t you, that Aunt Winifred seems like a nice, normal older lady…er, that is if you subtract the parrot and the monkey?”

  “Yes…if you subtract the parrot and the monkey.”

  “Unfortunately, looks are deceiving. Aunt Winifred, though she rarely frequents London or attends any ton events, knows exactly what the latest on dits are—and how to, ah, use them.”

  “Use them?” Whatever was Motton getting at?

  “Yes. She has an unusual sense of humor. She enjoys stirring up trouble, setting the cat amongst the pigeons, if you will, though I do believe she is always good hearted about it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  Motton examined his sherry. “You noticed how Lady Oxbury and your uncle are both here?”

  “Yes. I tried to hint to you that would be an excellent outcome.”

  Motton shook his head. “No hinting was necessary. I merely mentioned Lady Oxbury to Aunt Winifred and she immediately added Mr. Wilton to the guest list.”

  “Splendid.”

  “You may not think so shortly.” He smiled ruefully. “Lady Oxbury and Mr. Wilton are not the only individuals Aunt Winifred invited with ulterior motives.”

  David heard female voices approaching. Was Grace’s among them? He thought so. Yes. There she was—and behind her were the Addison twins. He turned to glare at Motton.

  Motton shrugged. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

  Not the worst of it? What could be worse? The twins almost bowled Grace over in their dash to get to him. Well, Motton could pay part of the price for this appalling development. David nodded at the girls, then stepped behind Motton and over to Lady Grace, leaving the viscount with the matching pair of matrimonial barracudas.

  “How is your aunt?” David asked. Grace looked beautiful, as usual, in a celestial blue gown with a neck that displayed a lovely expanse of skin and mounded breasts.

  “Resting. I think she’ll be down shortly.” Grace glanced around. “I don’t see your uncle.”

  “I’m certain he’ll be down shortly as well.” He saw one of the Addison twins looking in his direction. He took Lady Grace’s elbow and directed her toward the windows. There was no time to waste—no time for roundaboutation. “May I ask a boon of you?”

  Grace looked startled. “Yes. Well, I think so. What is it?”

  “Do you see those two young women talking to Lord Motton—the twins?”

  Grace glanced over. “Yes, of course. Miss Amanda and Miss Abigail. I met them in the hall just now.”

  “Can you please see that I am never alone with either one of them?”

  “Why?”

  “They are trying to catch me in parson’s mousetrap and I don’t wish to be caught”—he smiled down at her—“at least by one of them.”

  She opened her fan and fluttered it in front of her face. She had reddened again. Her beautiful skin showed her every emotion.

  Damn, he had a sudden overwhelming desire to see how it responded to intense bedroom pleasure. Not an appropriate thought for Motton’s drawing room.

  “Will you help me, Grace? Protect me? Please?”

  The fan moved more quickly. Grace glanced at the Addisons once more. “You are being absurd.”

  “I am being truthful. Painfully truthful.”

  She smiled slightly and shook her head. “Absurd, but yes, I’ll do my best to see you aren’t trapped by one of the Misses Addison.”

  “Thank you. I—”

  “I’m sure he’s here, Cordelia.” Miss Smyth entered the room, an older, white-haired woman with a cane at her side. “He’s a big, strapping fellow.”

  Miss Smyth surveyed the few people assembled. Her eyes hit upon him—he was the tallest person in the room—and lit up. She grabbed her companion’s arm and started dragging her in his direction.

  Hell. There was something about the woman with Miss Smyth…Was she why Motton had said the Addisons weren’t the worst of it?r />
  Miss Smyth reached him and smiled.

  Bloody hell.

  “Lady Grace, if you’ll excuse me for interrupting, I have someone who especially wishes to meet Lord Dawson.”

  Dread exploded in his gut. He looked at the white-haired woman. Were there tears in her eyes?

  Good God, it couldn’t be…

  “Lord Dawson,” Miss Smyth said, “I’d like you to meet Lady Wordham.” Her smile grew. “Your grandmother.”

  Kate sighed. She couldn’t delay any longer. She was dressed; she had dismissed Marie.

  She should have gone down with Grace when Grace had looked in a little while ago, but she’d lost her courage. She’d even considered pleading fatigue and hiding in her room. But she couldn’t do that—she couldn’t hide away for the entire house party. She had to face people—Alex—eventually.

  She studied her reflection in the cheval glass, turning sideways to scrutinize her profile. Thank God for the current fashion of high-waisted gowns. Her middle had begun to look larger—well, perhaps that was her imagination. Marie had been lacing her stays more loosely, but more from an excess of caution than need.

  Her breasts, however, were another matter. They were most definitely larger—they were barely contained by her bodice. Marie had already talked about making an alteration or two.

  Would Alex notice? Surely not. Her breasts were large for her, but she had been rather small-breasted before. They weren’t beacons of her condition…were they?

  She would take a shawl down with her. It might be drafty. Where had Marie put her Norwich shawl when she’d unpacked? She opened the wardrobe; pulled out a few drawers…Ah, there it was. She draped it over her shoulders and finally acknowledged she had run out of ways to put off the inevitable. She took a sustaining breath and stepped out of the safety of her room.

  She need only follow the sound of conversation to find where everyone was gathering before dinner. From the volume of noise, many more guests had arrived.

  She paused outside the room. Was Alex there? He should be; she was coming down quite late.

  She took another deep breath, gathered her shawl around her, and nodded to the footman who’d been waiting to open the door. Perhaps she could find a nice corner to hide in…

  What was she thinking? She needed to watch over Grace. Lord Dawson was here.

  She stepped over the threshold and surveyed the room. Her eyes found Alex immediately, as if he were a magnet. He was talking—well, listening—to one of the Addison twins, his back to the door. She moved to the other side of the room. Yes, she had to discuss the…situation with him, but not here amongst all these people. And she felt completely incapable of discussing any other subject with the man.

  She did not immediately see Lord Dawson. Since he would tower over all the guests except Alex, he could not be hiding in the crowd. Had the other Addison twin cornered him? No, there she was, conversing with a very young gentleman.

  And where was Grace?

  “Looking for your niece, Lady Oxbury?”

  “Oh!” She hadn’t noticed Miss Smyth approaching. Fortunately the woman was not accompanied by Theo. “Yes. Do you know where she is?”

  Miss Smyth smiled. “Lord Dawson dragged her out into the bushes not five minutes ago.”

  “What!?”

  The people around her stopped their conversations to stare. She tried to smile for their benefit while her heart lurched in her chest. It was beating so hard, she feared it might push her newly oversized breasts right out of her bodice.

  Miss Smyth took her arm and led her toward an elderly woman on a settee. “Now don’t be concerned, Lady Oxbury. I’m certain Lady Grace is completely safe in the garden with Lord Dawson. He was understandably upset, and I’m afraid it was my fault.”

  “Upset? Your fault?” Whatever was the woman talking about?

  Miss Smyth nodded. “Yes. I happen to be good friends with”—she paused and frowned at Kate’s shawl. “Aren’t you overly warm, Lady Oxbury?”

  It was a trifle stuffy in the room. Actually, she was quite warm indeed. She was warm all the time now that she was—

  Kate pulled her shawl closer. “Oh, no. I’m perfectly comfortable. I believe there’s a slight chill in the air.”

  Miss Smyth lifted an eyebrow, and then gave a small shrug. “Very well. As I was saying, I am good friends with Lady Wordham, Lord Dawson’s maternal grandmother.”

  “Oh.” The mother of the woman Standen had loved and apparently never quite got over.

  Kate slipped her hand under her shawl to rest on her stomach. Alex hadn’t talked about his brother’s death. Did he blame Standen? If Lord Wordham hadn’t promised his daughter to Standen, if the young couple hadn’t been pursued…

  She’d been all of nine then. Standen had been twenty-five—Grace’s age now. He’d come home from that Season different. But what had Lady Wordham felt? Standen had lost the woman he thought he loved—though she, obviously, had not loved him. Lady Wordham had lost a daughter.

  “Lord Wordham died last year, you know, probably close to the time your husband passed.” Miss Smyth paused, took Kate’s hand in hers, and patted it. “My sincere condolences, dear Lady Oxbury, on your loss.”

  “Why, ah, thank you, Miss Smyth.”

  “You, of course, are much younger than Cordelia. You may marry again.”

  Good God, did Miss Smyth have a knowing gleam in her eye? Surely not!

  “Cordelia, however…” Miss Smyth shrugged. “She is not in the best of health, I fear. I tell her she’ll live another ten or twenty years, but I don’t think she believes me. I mean, look at me. I’m almost seventy and in fine fettle. I feel as if I’ll live forever—well, except for my rheumatism…”

  Kate wasn’t sure what to say. She needn’t have worried. Miss Smyth didn’t need any encouragement to continue.

  “Cordelia wishes to tidy up, as it were. Attend to unfinished business. So when she told me she’d always regretted she’d never even met Harriet’s son, I knew I had to do something. I do so like bringing people together.”

  Surely Miss Smyth hadn’t winked? And when was she going to give her her hand back? It seemed rude to just pull it away.

  There was a disturbance at the door. They both looked over. A tall, broad-shouldered, very angry-looking man and a slim, equally angry-looking woman had just entered.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Smyth said. “That’s Lord and Lady Kilgorn. Scots, you know. Rather hotheaded. I’d best go help Edmund deal with them.” She smiled and patted Kate’s hand again. “You will go sit with Cordelia, won’t you, dear? And look, here is Mr. Wilton to keep you both company.”

  Alex! No. She wasn’t ready…She felt cold and then hot. Clammy. Certainly she wasn’t going to faint, was she?

  “Dear Lady Oxbury, you look so pale. Mr. Wilton, I think Lady Oxbury should sit down, don’t you? Why don’t you take her to the settee over there?”

  She heard his deep voice, a note of concern evident, and felt his strong grasp on her elbow.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Chapter 14

  “What am I going to do? I can’t go back in there.” David ran his hand through his hair.

  “Why not?” Grace tried to catch her breath. She’d had to almost run to keep up with David, he’d left the drawing room so quickly. “What is the problem?”

  The problem obviously had something to do with Lady Wordham. Miss Smyth had barely got the name out of her mouth before David had grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her out the door and into the bushes. And this trip to the vegetation had nothing to do with seduction. David wasn’t even touching her now. His hands were fisted at his sides.

  “Didn’t you hear? That woman is my grandmother.” He looked away, his jaw tense.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, hold him, comfort him…but what was she comforting him for? Lady Wordham had looked harmless. More than that, the poor old woman’s eyes had been full of longing and regret. And tears.

 
; There was something here she didn’t understand, so she must tread cautiously. “She’s your mother’s mother?”

  “Yes.”

  David still stared off into the distance. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He looked as taut as a bowstring.

  “Have you met her before?”

  “No, God damn it. Why would I?” He glared at her, but she wasn’t convinced he saw her. “She and her husband never came to visit—they never even sent me a note on my birthday. In all my thirty-one years, this is the first time a member of that family has acknowledged my existence.”

  Grace laid her hand on his arm. For a moment, she thought he would jerk it away, but he didn’t. He looked down at her.

  “Perhaps Lady Wordham wanted to see you, but her husband wouldn’t let her. She is recently a widow. Perhaps this is the first time she has been free to do what has been in her heart all these years.”

  David snorted derisively and looked away again—but he didn’t move away. She put her other hand on his arm as well.

  “Or perhaps she was as bad as her husband, but now sees that such malice and pettiness is wrong. Perhaps she regrets her actions—or lack of action—and wishes to make amends.”

  He looked back down at her. “Why should I think that?”

  “Why shouldn’t you? She has come all this way; she looked so eager—so happy—to see you.”

  He snorted again. She shook his arm slightly.

  “What have you got to lose, David? If she is as unfeeling as you say, you have had your opinion confirmed. You can avoid her—or even cut her—for the rest of the house party and feel justified in doing so. But if she has had a change of heart—or if she has always had a good heart—you’ve gained a grandmother and lost this anger and pain you’ve been carrying all your life. It must weigh you down terribly.”

  He stared at her, his face expressionless. Was he going to cling to his hatred, tell her to leave him alone?

  It would be best if he did. She was going to marry John, not David. She should not be out in the garden with him. She should have refused to come.

  But she could not bear for him to hold onto this pain any longer. He needed to get rid of it—to talk to his grandmother. But he needed to choose that. She could not do it for him.