But if he was, then so was she; he’d make sure she remembered that fact after the wedding ring was on her finger.
At least he could take some grim pleasure in knowing just how furious his uncle would be; the taint of scandal alone would drive him mad. The Byrons might be a wealthy, powerful family, but they were almost as infamous as he was himself. In fact, before being “reformed” by love and several supposedly happy marriages, the Byron men had been known as unrepentant rakehells, raising skirts and eyebrows wherever they went. If there ever was a family of black sheep, it was the Byrons. Fitting, he supposed, that he would soon be joining their ranks.
But first he had to propose—assuming that pretense was even required under the circumstances. She had to be expecting his arrival. For all he knew, she was in the drawing room at this very instant, preening in front of the mirror to make sure her dress and hair looked just right.
Lord save him if she was.
Heaving a sigh at the prospect, he rode on toward Braebourne.
• • •
Esme plunged her hands into a bucket of clean water, barely aware of the blood and other unmentionable substances staining the front of the apron she’d donned for the birth. But it was all over now, mother and babies doing well—all five of them!
She’d had to help a bit with the last two kittens, who had been slow at coming into the world. But finally they had emerged, snuggling, blind and deaf, as newborn kittens were, against their mother so she could groom them clean and urge them to drink their first meal of mother’s milk.
All five tiny, adorable kittens—two tabby-striped, two black and one white—had eaten and were sleeping contentedly with their mother in the warm blanket-lined box Esme had prepared for them. Abigail had eaten a small amount of the minced chicken Esme had sent to the kitchens for; then she too had dropped off to sleep, exhausted from the exertion of having given birth.
Esme smiled down at them, already thinking about various friends and neighbors who might be willing to adopt the kittens once they were old enough to be weaned and settled in new homes. And, of course, a few of her siblings might have room in their homes for a new feline addition. The older of her nieces and nephews would want to see the kittens. Once they did, she suspected they would be begging to take home their favorites.
For tonight they would remain here in the feed room, but tomorrow she planned to move them to a more secluded part of the stable, where they would be in no danger of getting underfoot as the grooms did their work.
After one last look at her furry charges, she turned away and headed toward the main stable doors. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun warm and bold, making her realize that the hour was more advanced than she had thought.
Her stomach panged and she became abruptly aware of just how famished she was. If she was lucky, she might be able to wheedle some tea and biscuits out of Grumbly. Otherwise, she’d have to wait for nuncheon, which was never served earlier than one o’clock.
She walked toward the house, not bothering to stop and look as she cut through a break in a high hedgerow and stepped out onto the graveled drive. A pounding of hooves came to her ears seconds before she saw the massive gray stallion thundering toward her. She cried out and instinctively raised an arm to shield herself from what was certain to be a brutal blow.
But it never came, the rider reacting so quickly that he slowed the animal’s speed and shifted his mount’s direction in the blink of an eye.
The horse whinnied and reared, great equine hooves slashing the air only inches from her head. The man turned the frightened horse again so that when the stallion’s legs came back to earth he was well clear of her, the rider having controlled his mount with a skill that was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Esme stared wide-eyed, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as she willed her heart to stop beating like a tom-tom. She pressed a hand to her hammering chest and gazed up, then up again.
Good heavens, it’s him! The man from my drawing.
Only he was wearing clothes this time—and one of the darkest, most furiously menacing scowls she had ever seen, which, considering her six devil-take-the-hindmost older brothers, was saying a great deal.
“Are you injured?” he barked in a harsh tone. “Have you suffered any harm?”
“No, I—” She took a moment to assess her health. “I am well, physically, at least.”
“A state for which you have my quick reflexes to thank. What in Hades’ name did you think you were doing, darting out from between those bushes like that? My horse and I nearly ran you down, you idiot girl.”
Whatever guilt Esme had been feeling for her part in the near accident vanished with the words “idiot girl.” Her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers curling into fists.
“I was taking a shortcut to the house,” she said in clipped tones, “which would not have been a problem had you been riding at a less reckless pace.”
“Reckless? I was cantering. That is hardly a dangerous speed.”
“It is when you are traveling on an unfamiliar lane and fail to watch what is in your path.”
“That was not a matter of not watching. I would have spotted you with plenty of time to spare had you not leapt out of that hedge like some deranged rabbit.”
“Oh, so now I’m deranged and an idiot, am I?”
He shrugged. “As you say. It is good to know you are willing to admit your own failings.”
“Why you—you—” Her fingers balled tighter at her sides.
She wanted to tell him exactly how ungentlemanly she thought him but couldn’t come up with a term vile enough. If only he would climb down from his horse, so she could express her feelings without having to crane back her neck. She was getting a crick just looking up. And to think she’d once found him appealing; she liked him far better naked and asleep.
“Yes? Go on? What is it you wish to call me?” he drawled in a rich baritone.
She resisted the urge to flush as he raked his tawny-eyed gaze over her. Judging by his expression, he clearly found her lacking in that regard as well. Not that she could entirely blame him, given her shabby attire, which was only made worse by the begrimed apron she still wore. Then there was her hair, which trailed untidily down her back, a few damp tendrils clinging to her forehead and cheeks due to her recent efforts at helping to deliver Abigail’s kittens.
“There are any number of choice terms I could apply to you,” she said, “several of them involving the barnyard. But since most of them would be an insult to the animals living there, I shall refrain from saying them aloud.”
His lips twitched, his fierce eyes glittering with a dangerous light, as if he were caught somewhere between anger and amusement. “Cheeky piece, aren’t you?” Then to her astonishment, he winked. “Hurry on to wherever it is you were bound. I shouldn’t wish to make you even later in resuming your duties, or to be the cause of you suffering any punishment, however deserving of it you may be.”
Her lips parted, no sound coming out.
She was still contemplating his remark and the erroneous assumption that she was a servant when he touched a finger to his tall beaver hat, pressed a knee to his mount’s side and set off again—at a gallop, she noticed.
For a moment, she stood watching him disappear up the main drive toward the front entrance of the house. Then she came back to herself, once again remembering the time.
Hurrying forward, she moved across the lane and onto the lawn, her destination a quiet side door in the east wing that the servants always left unlocked for her use.
As for Lord Northcote and his unexpected arrival, she tried hard not to think about it at all.
Chapter 6
“More tea, Lord Northcote?” asked Claire, Duchess of Clybourne, from her place on one of the elegant drawing room sofas.
Gabriel was seated in a surprisingly comfortable armchair a
cross from her, his nearly empty china cup balanced on his knee. “Thank you, but no.” He set the cup and saucer aside, his gaze straying toward the mantel clock and the ever-lengthening morning; he’d already been here an hour.
“I cannot think what must be keeping Esme,” the duchess said, her own gaze darting toward the clock. “I’ll just go check on her, shall I?”
Jumping to her feet, she left the room.
But her departure had not left Gabriel alone; the various Byron brothers were scattered throughout the space like a royal guard, and a silent one at that.
The duke was reading a newspaper, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was present merely to ensure that Gabriel made good on his promise to do the honorable thing, regardless of how little the term actually applied in his case.
Cade, Jack and Adam Gresham were playing a quiet game of cards at a table near the windows, while Drake sat on a chair near the fireplace, periodically penciling notes onto a small pad.
As for Leo and Lawrence, they were still cross with him and had spent the past hour shooting identical glares his way in between foraging trips to the tea tray. Between the two of them, they’d eaten most of the scones and biscuits and virtually all of the lemon curd.
Gabriel would likely have found the situation amusing had his circumstances not been so patently lacking in humor. Not for the first time, he considered standing up and telling them all to go bugger themselves, that he wasn’t marrying their impetuous chit of a sister after all. But seeing as he was outnumbered again, and in Byron home territory this time, he thought better of the plan. Chances were good the brothers would tackle him before he made it halfway out the door.
And so he sat and waited.
And waited.
Arrogant minx. Who does she imagine herself to be, keeping me kicking my heels like this? Oh, that’s right, he reminded himself as his gaze strayed to Clybourne, she thinks herself a duke’s sister; that’s who.
Impatient with sitting, he got up and wandered over to the set of windows at the far end of the room. The Byron brothers all looked up for a moment, then, assured he wasn’t trying to make an escape, went back to their own activities. Gabriel stared out across the beautifully manicured lawn with its mature trees and lush flower beds. The long front drive stretched off in an earth-toned ribbon that wound away as far as the eye could see. As he recalled riding up the drive, he thought again of the servant girl he and Maximus had nearly trampled.
He wondered where she was now and what duties she was performing. Based on the stained apron she’d been wearing, he suspected she worked in the kitchens.
She’d certainly been a pretty little thing, with her clear alabaster and rose-tinted skin, stormy blue eyes and small round breasts that had thrust enticingly against the worn fabric of her bodice. Even if she could do with a good dose of caution, he’d found her intriguing—and desirable.
She’d been feisty as well, surprisingly so. Servants were usually far too afraid of losing their positions to ever directly confront a member of the aristocracy, and yet she’d fearlessly gone toe-to-toe with him. He’d rather enjoyed trading barbs with her. It made him wonder what she’d be like in bed. He bet she’d give him a damn fine ride, with enough spirit to keep him guessing what might come next.
He smiled to himself. Perhaps once all this engagement nonsense was resolved, he would seek her out. A bit of extracurricular sport might be exactly what he needed to smooth out the rough spots in his mood.
With a silent huff of exasperation, he wondered how much longer his “intended” planned to keep him waiting.
Annoying little baggage.
Without warning, the drawing room door opened and in walked what appeared to be an entire gaggle of women, the skirts of their brightly colored gowns shimmering in rainbow hues. He stared, doing a quick head count, and realized there were eight of them in total. Good thing the drawing room was large; there were so many people inside it now the duke and duchess could have hosted a party.
Are they all Byrons—or Byron brides at least? He assumed so, recognizing three of the ladies—Claire; Ava, the dowager duchess, whom he had met briefly on his arrival; and Mallory, Lady Gresham. But which one of the others, he wondered, was the elusive Lady Esme?
He moved forward, looking from face to face. Then abruptly he stopped, as if he’d walked into a brick wall, his gaze falling on a dark-haired young woman he most definitely had never expected to see in this room.
“You!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening.
For there she stood, the servant girl about whom he’d just been fantasizing—only she was clearly no servant, but rather an elegantly groomed young lady of class and refinement. She was clean and tidy now, dressed in a pale pink silk gown with matching slippers. A darker pink ribbon was threaded through her upswept sable curls, her skin radiating a healthy, youthful glow.
She lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the eye. “Yes, me, the deranged idiot back once more. How do you do again, my Lord Northcote.”
• • •
All around the room, Esme’s brothers got to their feet, looks of suspicion and speculation ripe on their faces. Mama, Claire, Mallory, Sebastianne, Grace, Meg and Thalia looked puzzled as well at this unexpected turn of events. Upstairs, while they’d been gathered in her rooms, waiting for her to finish bathing and dressing so they could coax her to come downstairs rather than slip out of the house again, she’d said nothing to them about her unexpected encounter with Northcote.
Why she’d decided to say something now, even she wasn’t entirely certain. Although mayhap it had something to do with coming face-to-face with Northcote again; when she was around him, her usual reserve seemed to fly straight out the nearest window.
“What is all of this? I thought the two of you were unacquainted,” Edward said, clearly not about to let her comment go unremarked.
“Except in a semibiblical kind of way, of course,” Jack piped. “Naked drawing and all that, you know.”
Edward shot him a quelling look. “Thank you so much, Jack, for that illuminating, and completely unnecessary, explanation.”
Jack grinned like an impish little boy instead of a married father of four. “Anytime, Ned. Always ready to help.”
Across from him, his wife, Grace, shook her head, an amused little smile playing on her lips, which she did her best to hide. Jack met her eyes and waggled his brows. She covered her mouth with a hand and glanced away.
“So, which is it, Northcote?” Lawrence said in a far less amused tone, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you and Esme know one another after all?”
“What he means is, were you lying to us last night so we wouldn’t beat the stuffing out of you?” Leo’s fierce expression was identical to his twin’s.
“We can still beat the stuffing out of him,” Cade suggested with a militant gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
“Most definitely.” Jack rubbed his hands together. “Shall we take him out to the gardens? Or maybe the woods would be a better spot?”
“Or there’s always the lake,” Drake mused. “Give him a good dunking. Headfirst, I think.”
Cade nodded. “There’s an old army tactic using a sack and bucket. We could—”
“Boys, that will do,” the dowager duchess interrupted in a soft, yet implacable voice that quieted the lot of them instantaneously. “Lord Northcote is our guest and there will be no more of this unpleasant sort of talk.”
Around the room, eyes lowered. “Yes, Mama,” came a chorus of deep male voices.
Apparently satisfied, Ava Byron turned her focus on Northcote. “Now, my lord, do let us clear up this matter so as to eliminate any further confusion. Do you know my daughter Esme or not? Given your exclamation on seeing her when we entered the room, she did not appear to be unfamiliar to you.”
Esme waited, refusing to look away when his gaze shift
ed to meet hers.
“You are right,” he said, his tawny eyes still locked with hers. “She is not unfamiliar to me, but only because the lady and I had a rather unexpected encounter earlier today. She darted out from behind some bushes and dashed straight into the path of my horse on the drive leading to Braebourne.”
“I did not dart or dash; I stepped,” Esme clarified, “and had his lordship been riding at a less dangerous pace than a full-on gallop, he would not have had occasion to nearly run me down.”
He arched one sardonic brow. “Had I been riding as swiftly as you claim, rather than at a steady canter, I would never have been able to stop in time to avoid a collision.”
“Actually, it is your horse who stopped in time, but since he cannot testify to such matters we shall have to agree to disagree.”
“Yes,” Northcote said with wry amusement, “it seems there will be no meeting of the minds on this topic. As for the outcome, luckily no lasting harm was done to any of us—you, me or my uncommunicative steed.”
“Yes, very lucky indeed.”
She fell silent, only then remembering that they had an audience, as her family looked on with acute interest.
Northcote had apparently not forgotten, however, as he turned back to the dowager duchess. “So, you see, ma’am, I am both acquainted—and yet unacquainted—with your daughter. She is known to me through happenstance rather than introduction. I give you my word that until today, I had never laid eyes upon her.”
“Thank you, Lord Northcote,” Ava said. “I am sure we all appreciate your candor.”
From the expressions around the room, not everyone seemed to agree. The dowager turned toward Esme. “You and I will talk later about this dangerous predilection you seem to have for taking shortcuts through the shrubbery. You were returning from the stables, I presume?”
“Yes, Mama. I had been seeing to Abigail and her brood. I told you about them, remember?”
“And so you did. Curious you omitted nearly being felled by Lord Northcote’s horse on your return, but as I said, we shall speak on this later.”
Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square Page 5
