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

by Jo Beverley

  How could he regret finally being there in truth?

  And damn, if anyone walked by now, they could not fail to notice his breeches were bulging in a very obvious fashion. Thank God Hermes was his only companion.

  Did the dog actually think that squirrel cared he was at the foot of the tree, barking—if you could call the little sound he made barking? Hermes certainly didn’t look very intimidating—the squirrel was almost as big as he was.

  Hermes gave one more bark and then trotted back to him. Alex turned up his collar against the damp and resumed their walk.

  In a few months’ time, would Kate’s belly still be smooth and flat or would it be rounded by his babe?

  He should feel a stab of panic at the thought, but all he felt was lust and pride and something else, something gentle and warm. Something he couldn’t remember feeling before.

  He wanted to protect Kate from the gossips, to keep her safe…and in his bed.

  He had to talk to her today, but where? He couldn’t very well take her for a tramp across Motton’s estate, not in her condition…that is, if she was in a condition. And anyway, it was too damp. It was actually raining now.

  “Come on, Hermes. Time to go in.”

  He turned and headed back the way he’d come. Hermes must have had enough of the weather as well, because he didn’t protest.

  Could he find a quiet corner in the house where he and Kate could have a private conversation? This was not a chat he’d care to have interrupted—or overheard, even by the servants. If the word got passed around that Kate was increasing…

  No, there was only one place for a discussion of such a sensitive nature. The place where the…problem had started—Kate’s bedroom.

  He would use that connecting door tonight, and if by some chance the conversation moved to her bed…well, he wouldn’t complain at all.

  David looked warily around the blue drawing room. Was this a safe place to read? The library had too many shadows and not enough escape routes.

  He could go hide in his bedroom.

  No, he wouldn’t put it past the Addison twins to corner him even there.

  He chose a chair that faced the door so no one—no young lady, no husband-hunting Addison—could creep up on him unawares. At the first sight of a feminine slipper, at the first sound of a female voice, he would bolt. He could dash out through the other door to the hall or head for the terrace via the French windows.

  He was in a particularly precarious position at the moment. Motton’s butler had informed him most of the men had gone out riding. He would have gone as well if he hadn’t been talking to Lady Wordham. To his grandmother.

  He smiled. He owed Lady Grace a large debt of gratitude. She’d been completely correct. There was no point in carrying a grudge—and now that he’d given it up, he realized what a heavy burden it had been. His whole life had been shadowed by a vague feeling of anger and abandonment, an ever-present niggling sense of unease. Half of his heritage had been obscured by a dark cloud.

  Now, thanks to Grace, a fresh wind had dissipated the gloom. He’d learned about his mother’s family—and he had a grandmother again. Lady Wordham would never replace Grandmamma, of course. Grandmamma had raised him, she and Grandda, and he had loved her as a mother. He would always miss her.

  But Lady Wordham was tied to him by blood as well, and it felt good to know about that side of his family. He had an uncle, two aunts, and various cousins whom he’d never met. He’d always known of them, of course—his uncle was now the marquis; he couldn’t live in England and be completely unaware of the man—but that was different. He just might see about paying a visit or two when he returned to Town.

  But first he had to be certain he left the house party a free man—or, better, a man betrothed to Lady Grace, not a devious Addison twin.

  He opened his book, but kept an eye on the door. He must remain alert. He was alone and unprotected. His grandmother had gone upstairs to lie down, and Grace was not in evidence. Where could she be? Didn’t she understand that her absence put him at grave risk?

  If she were here…Ah, he’d happily be found in a compromising position with Lady Grace. He would dearly love to initiate a compromising position. A very compromising position. A nakedly—

  “Lord Dawson!”

  He shot to his feet. Damn! One of the Addison girls had appeared in the doorway. Had she taken her shoes off and arrived on tiptoe so as to make no sound?

  He should not have allowed himself to become distracted by thoughts of Grace.

  “Ah…Miss…ah…Addison.” Which of the bloody little ferrets was she—Abigail or Amanda?

  “What a pleasant surprise, finding you here. I thought you’d be out riding with the other men.” Good God, was the woman actually batting her eyelashes? “Did you stay here hoping to encounter me?”

  “No!”

  Perhaps he had been a little too forceful in his reply. Miss Whichever Addison blinked, but rallied quickly.

  “Oh, Lord Dawson, you are so droll!”

  He was going to be so absent the moment she took one step closer. It might be hard to explain such a precipitous exit, but he didn’t care. He’d plead a sudden, urgent need to visit the privy, if he had to.

  Hell, she’d probably follow him into the damn jakes. The girl knew no shame. He cleared his throat.

  “Sorry to have to leave you so quickly, Miss, um, Addison, but I’m afraid I must go—”

  “No, you don’t, you cheeky little devil.”

  He blinked. Surely Miss One-or-the-Other Addison hadn’t said that? There was shameless and then there was…He couldn’t think of an adjective extreme enough to convey his sentiments.

  “Stop, thief!”

  No, now that his brain wasn’t completely frozen by panic, it was obvious who the speaker was—Miss Smyth’s parrot.

  “Eek!” Miss Addison-in-the-Room screeched and grabbed at her skirts, revealing a significant quantity of ankle had there been anyone in the room who cared to see. Miss Smyth’s monkey darted across the floor by her feet.

  “Edmund, you bad creature, come here!” Miss Smyth followed, her parrot on her shoulder.

  “Bad creature! Stop, thief!”

  “Oh, hush, Theo, do.” Miss Smyth smiled at David, then turned to Miss Still-Screeching Addison. “Please, Miss—which one are you?”

  “Abigail.”

  “The older one?”

  “By five minutes.”

  “Well, good for you—you elbowed your sister out of the way from the very beginning, didn’t you?”

  “Ye—no.” Miss Abigail Addison frowned. David swallowed a laugh. He could come to like Miss Smyth very well.

  Miss Amanda Addison put in her appearance then, pointing a finger accusingly at Miss Smyth’s monkey. “That creature stole my plume!”

  The monkey, attired today in a bright red coat and matching hat, was indeed clutching a pink plume. It screeched at Miss Amanda, scrambled up the curtains, and swung onto the mantel. A porcelain shepherdess, accompanied by two sheep, toppled to the hearth, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Smyth said, “I hope Edmund wasn’t especially fond of that knickknack.”

  “Yer in big trouble, matey.”

  Surely it wasn’t possible for a parrot to gloat? David bit back a smile. Theo seemed uncommonly pleased with the monkey’s misbehavior.

  “Oh, Lord Dawson, can’t you please rescue my plume from that, that…creature!” Miss Amanda was gazing at him beseechingly. He was not impressed.

  “I’m certain Miss Smyth can get your plume for you better than I can.” He grinned. “I don’t want to risk my fingers—the animal might bite.”

  This unchivalrous reply seemed to give her pause for a moment, allowing her sister the opportunity to push into the exchange.

  “Quite right, my lord. You can’t be too careful. Who knows what diseases that beast might carry?” She batted her eyelashes at him again.

  Apparently his barony outwe
ighed his lack of bravery, at least on Miss Abigail Addison’s scale.

  Miss Smyth’s mouth was opening and shutting, but no sound was emerging. She pressed her hands to her breast and took a deep breath. “Diseases? Diseases!”

  “Scurvy dog.”

  “You are quite right, Theo, but not about Edmund.” Miss Smyth took a step closer to Miss Abigail and waggled her finger right in front of the girl’s nose. “I’ll have you know, miss, that my Edmund does not carry diseases. How could you even think so? The very idea! He’s never been sick a day in his life. I’m sure he does not care to be so insulted.”

  Miss Amanda made the ill-considered decision to enter the fray. She laughed. “But he’s a monkey, Miss Smyth.”

  Motton’s aunt rounded on her new target. “I am well aware that he is a monkey. He is a very intelligent monkey—certainly more intelligent than a pair of young women I could mention”—Miss Smyth sniffed—“but won’t.”

  Two identical jaws dropped. Four identical eyebrows snapped into two identical frowns.

  David stepped forward. Surely the girls wouldn’t harm Miss Smyth, would they?

  They were not given the opportunity. Lady Kilgorn, Lady Oxbury, and Lady Grace fortunately stepped into the room then.

  Lady Kilgorn laughed. “Where did the wee monkey get that feather, Miss Smyth?”

  “From me, Lady Kilgorn.” Miss Amanda sounded exactly like the spoiled four-year-old daughter of one of David’s friends. “And I want it back.”

  “Well of course ye do.” Lady Kilgorn walked over to Edmund and extended her hand. “Here, sir, give me that feather, if ye please.”

  Edmund screeched. He did not seem inclined to comply.

  “Ah, ye drive a hard bargain, do ye?” Lady Kilgorn looked around the room and picked up a small, silver snuff box. “Will ye trade me then, sir?”

  Edmund looked at the shiny object in Lady Kilgorn’s hand for a few seconds; then he dropped the plume and grabbed the box. Lady Kilgorn picked up the feather and handed it to Amanda. Miss Smyth clapped.

  “Well done. You have quite a way with animals, Lady Kilgorn.” She beamed at the woman. “I was obviously very wise to include you in this house party.” She glared at the Addison twins. “Though clearly I did make a few mistakes on the guest list.”

  The Addison twins gasped in unison.

  Grace had stepped away from the fracas and closer to David.

  “Come with me into the garden?” he asked. She seemed to hesitate. “I’d like to tell you how my interview with my grandmother went.”

  She smiled then. “Of course.”

  They stepped out the French windows. The other women were having a spirited discussion about pets and appeared not to notice their departure.

  The air was fresh, damp, and a little chill, but invigorating. Grace let Lord Dawson put her hand on his arm. They walked across the terrace, down the steps, and along a path.

  “How did your conversation go, my lord?” She was so glad he had spoken with Lady Wordham. It had been obvious to her that the elderly woman needed to make peace with her past, but men could be so obtuse sometimes, so pigheaded. Just look at her father. Once he got a notion in his brain box, it was almost impossible to shake it loose.

  “It went very well.” David grinned. He looked so happy and…young. “Thank you for urging me to talk with her. I think it helped us both.”

  She squeezed his arm and smiled back at him. “Of course it did. And you were very kind to meet with her.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I was not very eager for the interview—and it was not pure charity by any means. I did gain something important—I learned about my mother and her family—my family.”

  “Yes, of course. But you could have lived your life adequately without knowing those things. Something would be missing, yes, but nothing crucial to your happiness. Lady Wordham, however…Well, I think she needed to be forgiven. Whether she was truly at fault or not, I think she felt the burden of the past.”

  He nodded and they strolled in silence for a few moments. Grace tried to memorize every detail—the feel of his arm under her hand, the height and breadth of his body next to hers, the way the sunlight gilded his hair. All too soon, she would be returning to Standen and walking down the aisle to an altar where John Parker-Roth waited.

  Could she hold these impressions in her heart, clear and sharp and alive, so she could relive them in the years to come? No. They would fade like a painting hung in the sunlight or subjected to the inevitable dust of time.

  It was just as well. She would have John. She should not be keeping another man in her heart.

  They had strayed into an overgrown section of the garden. The air was heavy with the scent of wet dirt and leaves.

  “Grace.”

  “Hmm?” It was so quiet here, so private. Almost as if she and David had managed to walk into another world, a world blessedly free of practicalities.

  David stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. He had a very intent look in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. Good. She tilted up her face, parted her lips. She wanted this. It was another memory, another sensation to store away for as long as she could.

  His mouth touched hers, gently at first, asking, not demanding; giving, not taking. It moved to her eyelids, her cheeks, light touches that burned into her heart, heated her, made her melt with need.

  She whimpered softly and his mouth returned to hers. This time its touch was not light. It was wet. Deep. Consuming. His tongue swept through her until she was certain he knew every corner of her soul.

  She put her hands round his neck and let her body sag into his, soft to his hard. Madness burned in her; hunger; desire.

  “Grace?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked up at him. She didn’t want to talk. Talking meant thinking. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel.

  She cupped his face, kissed his jaw, urged him to come back to her.

  He did. His hands moved to her hips. She wanted them on her breasts…

  He pulled his head up, laughing, panting slightly. “Grace, stop.”

  She didn’t want to stop; she never wanted to stop. She reached for him again, but he grabbed her by her shoulders and set her away from him. His touch was gentle, but unbreakable.

  “Grace.” He was grinning. “This is lovely, and I would definitely like to get back to such activities very soon, but first I have an important question to ask you.”

  Oh, dear God. She should turn away. She should make an excuse to go back to the house.

  No, running away did no good. Just as she had urged him to talk to his grandmother, now she must talk to him.

  She couldn’t talk. Her throat was clogged with tears.

  How could she explain her loyalty to her father? Her duty to honor his need above hers—above something as transitory as lust? She could tell by looking in David’s eyes he would not understand, and she did not want to see the joy in his face drain away.

  But he was relatively young, and they had only known each other such a short while. He would find another woman to love. Her father had only her.

  “Grace, will you marry me?”

  She didn’t have to watch his face; she couldn’t see it, she was crying too hard.

  “No, David. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Chapter 17

  “You’re retiring early, are you not, sir?” Roberts put Alex’s coat in the wardrobe.

  Alex swallowed a sigh. His valet could be damn annoying sometimes. “Not so early.”

  Roberts raised an eyebrow. Alex contemplated planting his fist in the man’s eye socket just under that obnoxious brow.

  His valet was a moderately perceptive man. Both eyebrows shot up, and then he bowed hurriedly. “I take it that will be all for the night?”

  Did the man’s glance dart toward the connecting door? Alex strove for an impassive—a phlegmatic—demeanor. Roberts probably knew exactly what he was contemplating—servants knew every blasted detail o
f one’s life—but he need not acknowledge that fact out loud. “Yes, thank you. That will be all.”

  Roberts headed for the door. Alex couldn’t help himself—the words were out before his brain fully realized he was speaking.

  “Ah, one more thing…”

  Roberts stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

  Alex’s brain finally caught up to his tongue. Was he a complete idiot? He couldn’t ask that. “Never mind.”

  Roberts smirked. “I noticed Lady Oxbury also sought her bedchamber early. The gathering must be very tiring.”

  He’d so enjoy throwing a shoe at the coxcomb’s head. “Exceedingly tiring. So tiring I may sleep late tomorrow. Do not bother to come until I call for you.” Ha! Let Roberts make what he would of that.

  It was obvious what Roberts was making of it. The man grinned at him. “Very good, sir.” He waggled his blasted eyebrows. “And may I say I wish you the best of luck?”

  Damn it, he was flushing. He could feel the heat flood his neck and face. “Why would I need luck?”

  Roberts’ eyebrows moved faster. “I have no idea, sir.” He slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Bloody liar. Roberts had a crystal clear idea of what he thought Alex intended—only he was wrong.

  Well, partly wrong. He would love to love Kate, to take her to bed and do what he’d done to her back in London.

  Ah, there was the rub. What had he done to her in London?

  He reached for the brandy decanter and poured himself a full glass. Was he going to be a father? Have a child—a son…well, or a daughter. A baby.

  In the first year or two after Kate had married Oxbury, he’d been tortured by the thought of her growing round and heavy with Oxbury’s brat. It wasn’t well done of him, he knew that. He’d known it even then, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. In his mind, having Oxbury’s child made Kate’s marriage irrefutable. When the years passed and she stayed slim and childless, he could fool himself that she didn’t share Oxbury’s bed, that she wasn’t tied to the man.

  There might be some truth to that. Oh, not that Kate was a virgin—she’d clearly not been one when he’d climbed into her bed in London. But her ties to Oxbury…for better or worse, they hung by a thread—or by the new Lord Oxbury’s whim.