Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Mallory smiled at her now, reaching out to give her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so pleased that you and Northcote seem to be getting along so well. If I am not mistaken, the two of you are well on your way to being in love. He can scarcely keep his eyes off you and he never seems to let you out of his sight.”

  Yes, to make sure I don’t decide to annul the marriage, after all—promise or no promise.

  But it was already too late. She’d tied her fate to his the moment she’d spoken those two simple words in the chapel.

  And then he was at her side, sliding an arm around her waist to pry her gently but firmly away from her sister. All her relations followed the two of them outside onto the wide gravel drive, where they began to exchange good-byes. She found herself passed from one loved one to another, sharing tearful hugs and kisses with her mother, then Ned, Claire, Cade, Meg, Grace and Jack, who bussed her noisily on the cheek. Next came Drake, Sebastianne, Adam, Mallory and Thalia.

  Last were Leo and Lawrence, who each gave her extra-long, extra-strong bear hugs that lifted her briefly off her feet.

  “If he steps out of line,” Lawrence whispered in her ear, “remember that you’ve only to send word and we’ll be on your doorstep in a trice. You may be his wife, but we’ll always be your family.”

  She nearly broke then, the truth on her tongue, wanting to get out. But suddenly she glanced sideways and caught sight of Northcote. He waited near the coach, apart from the others.

  And yet again, for reasons that continued to elude her, she couldn’t bring herself to speak against him, to humiliate him, no matter the difficulties that lay between them.

  So rather than take advantage of her last chance to escape, she went to the coach and allowed Northcote to hand her inside.

  He’d just taken the seat across from her when Burr leapt inside. His tail waved like a silken flag as he let out a happy bark and settled against her skirts.

  Northcote frowned. “I thought you were leaving your menagerie behind.”

  “I am, but not Burr.” She stroked her hand over the dog’s head. “He pines if I’m away. I wanted to bring Henry as well, but the poor dear is just too old to make the trip.”

  He studied the animal, his eyes narrowing suddenly. “I remember you,” he said, addressing the dog. “Burr, is it?”

  Burr barked and wagged in agreement.

  “I suppose, in an odd way,” Northcote mused aloud, “that it only makes sense for him to accompany us, considering he was there at Cray’s lake that fateful day. Your silent accomplice, as it were.”

  She flushed slightly but made no reply.

  Before he had a chance to offer another sarcastic comment, the coach set off, gravel crunching beneath the wheels and the horses’ hooves.

  Turning her head, she looked through the window for one final glimpse of her family, still gathered on the drive. They waved and she waved back, one last time. Her throat tightened as she sat back, her eyes squeezed closed against a sudden rush of tears.

  She’d been away from Braebourne before, but never on her own and never with the knowledge that from this day forward, the estate would no longer be her home. She would have a new home now, one that was strange and unfamiliar. Like the furry and feathered creatures she rescued, she liked the comfort of familiar surroundings, and of soothing, established routines. Now everything and everyone around her would be new, particularly the man who lounged in the seat opposite.

  She opened her eyes and received a tiny shock of surprise.

  Northcote was watching her.

  His hawklike eyes were speculative and enigmatic, every bit as mysterious as Aeolus’s had ever been.

  She hoped the bird was thriving in his newly rediscovered freedom, soaring happily once more through the wide-open skies.

  Odd how the two of them seemed to have switched places. Before he’d been the one in a cage. Now it was her.

  After settling himself more comfortably into one corner, Northcote crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

  Is he going to sleep?

  When she heard the faintest of snores coming from him barely a minute later, she knew that was exactly what he’d done.

  Beast.

  No matter how tired she might be, sleep always eluded her when she was sitting up, whether she was seated in a cozy chair next to the fire or inside a moving coach.

  She scowled at him with frustrated envy for another few moments, then turned her attention to Burr. Patting the seat beside her, she invited him to hop up next to her, which he did with alacrity. She reached into the traveling satchel near her feet and pulled out her sketchbook and a pencil.

  She drew Burr, who was always a favorite subject, capturing him in state of doggy dreams. Next, she tried to sketch the passing scenery, but it went by too quickly and soon proved an exercise that was more frustrating than enjoyable.

  Slowly, her sights turned to Northcote.

  He was still asleep, his features bold and arresting, beautiful in their way. In sleep, he seemed more approachable, his usual mask of cynicism temporarily cast free of its mooring.

  Something in her softened to see him so, together with a wish that he might look like this when he was awake.

  But she supposed that was impossible.

  He was who he was.

  Just as she was who she was.

  The hardened rake and the tenderhearted innocent shackled together for life because of a single imprudent act.

  She stared down at the blank page, remembering.

  Slowly, she began to draw.

  • • •

  It was well after sunset three days later when they reached Highhaven. The countryside was swathed in a darkness so dense it was a wonder the coachman and horses were able to find their way.

  Inside the coach, Esme drew in a breath of humid, brine-scented air and listened to the sound of the sea crashing against the rocky shoreline somewhere closeby.

  Northcote had set a grueling pace, stopping only to change horses and again at night to dine and let them both rest for a few hours. To her surprise and relief, they had slept in separate rooms. Yet in spite of the long journey and their present late arrival, Esme hadn’t complained. Truthfully, she wasn’t eager to spend yet another day inside the coach with him, where he sat mostly silent and brooding.

  Or else asleep.

  When he wasn’t asleep, he read, while she did the same. Over the entire journey, they’d exchanged barely a handful of words, and most of those polite inquiries that one might have used with the most ordinary of acquaintances.

  She peered through the coach window, anxious to see her new home, albeit a temporary one since she knew from a remark Edward had made that this was not Northcote’s ancestral estate. That great house lay somewhere to the north, though precisely where she wasn’t certain, and given Northcote’s present taciturn humor, she wasn’t about to ask.

  Travel weary, Esme gazed into the night, one arm wrapped around Burr for comfort. She frowned when she caught sight of the house with its dark, unwelcoming facade.

  Clearly, they were not expected.

  The coachman leapt down and went to bang on the front door. Northcote followed, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of light or servants.

  He tried the door but found it barred. Raising his fist, he was the one to pound this time—and keep on pounding.

  “Keep yer everlastin’ drawers on, will ya,” grumbled a man’s voice from inside nearly a minute later. “I’m comin’. I’m comin’. And I’ll thank ye ta’ cease tha’ racket, whoever tha’ devil ye might be.”

  From inside the house came the unmistakable sounds of locks being drawn back. Still grumbling, the man opened the door. “If ye weren’t tha’ devil, ye’d have a care fer tha’ time. Decent folk shouldn’t be disturbin’ other folk at such an hour.”

  “I’m
sure not,” Northcote drawled. “Then again, I ceased being decent long ago.”

  “M-my lord,” the older man stammered, his eyes popping wide with recognition. “Wot ye doin’ here? The missus and me weren’t ’spectin’ ye, well, not tonight anyhow.”

  Northcote eyed the darkened house. “Yes, that much is evident. You did receive my letter, I trust?”

  “Aye, but only jes’ this mornin’. We didn’t think, well, Mrs. Canby ’n’ me . . . Ye said next week,” he finished accusingly.

  “Yes, and so I did. Lady Northcote and I had a change of plans, however, and decided to come early.”

  Lady Northcote and I . . .

  Esme sniffed under her breath. If there was blame to go around, it lay squarely on Northcote’s own head.

  “Jim, who’s there? What do they want?” called a female voice from somewhere deep inside the house.

  Mrs. Canby, Esme presumed.

  Light from another candle added its illumination to the one in the servant’s hand as the woman stepped forward to join Jim Canby where he stood in the doorway.

  “It’s his lordship and his new lady, Jemima,” the male servant explained.

  “What!” The woman nearly dropped her candle, the flame flickering as she somehow managed to wring her pudgy hands and keep hold of the candle all at the same time. “But we weren’t expectin’ ye and the house ain’t ready. Oh, I’m ever so sorry, milord. What must ye be thinkin’?” She shot a worried glance toward the coach. “What must yer lady be thinkin’?”

  “The omission is mine,” Northcote said. “Pray light a few candles and find us something edible for dinner. I presume there is food in the larder?”

  Jemima bobbed her head of white hair with its last few lingering strands of what must once have been a glorious red. “Aye, but nothin’ fancy. Jest some bread and cheese, maybe a shoulder of ham. Might have the fixin’s fer a soup of some sort.”

  “Any of that should do nicely so long as it’s hot and filling.”

  “Well, let me air out a bedroom first fer yer lady wife so she can refresh herself afore supper; then I’ll get to bangin’ some pots ’round in the kitchen.”

  Before Northcote had time to offer so much as “yea” or “nay,” the older woman spun on her heels and disappeared back into the darkened house. Illumination burst quickly to life in the foyer and front room as candles were set ablaze.

  Meanwhile, Jim hurried forward and went to help the coachman unload the luggage.

  Burr leapt down from the coach, barking twice as his paws landed on the crushed shell drive. He raced in an excited circle and barked again, clearly happy to be free of the vehicle.

  Esme stood to exit the coach, expecting to receive assistance from the footman.

  Instead, Northcote waited below, looking serious and saturnine.

  He held out a hand.

  She almost refused his assistance. Then she caught sight of his expression and changed her mind. She was just too tired to argue tonight.

  But he released her the moment she was on the ground, leaving her to make her way into the house alone. Burr trotted at her heels, his pink tongue lolling.

  Grumbly will see to it that I have everything I need.

  Then she remembered.

  Mrs. Grumblethorpe wasn’t with them; she had been left behind at Braebourne. Northcote had made up some excuse about the house being small and how they needed to travel light. Since they were there for their honeymoon and would have no occasion to entertain, he’d argued that she could do with the services of a local girl to attend her while they were in residence.

  But she knew he’d refused to take Mrs. Grumblethorpe because of the remark Esme had made about her longtime maid not approving of his actions. He would want no interference now that he had her alone.

  She shivered and trailed him inside, glad she at least had Burr.

  • • •

  As good as her word, Mrs. Canby showed her to a pleasantly decorated bedchamber done in refreshing shades of green and white. Despite the fact that the room was only a third of the size of her bedroom at Braebourne, it was surprisingly comfortable, with a soft woven rug to warm the wooden floors and a spacious cherrywood canopy bed that dominated the space.

  A cheerful fire was crackling in the hearth by the time she was shown to the room by Mrs. Canby, who stayed only long enough to help her change out of her traveling dress before she set off downstairs for the kitchens to fix dinner.

  Esme washed her hands and arms and face with the fresh water Mrs. Canby had also been kind enough to provide; then she sagged down onto the mattress. She gripped one of the wooden bedposts, then closed her eyes, fighting the odd urge to cry.

  The door opened without a knock and her eyes flew open.

  Northcote stood on the threshold.

  Esme lunged for the counterpane, yanking it up out of its neat tuck. She held it in front of her like a shield. “What are you doing here?”

  He walked in and shut the door. “Mrs. Canby told me she hasn’t been able to hire a girl from the village for you yet, so I’ve come to play lady’s maid.”

  “There would be no need of anyone’s help if you’d just let me bring Mrs. Grumblethorpe along.”

  He ignored her remark and crossed to her luggage. Opening her trunk, he reached inside.

  “Stop that,” she said. “I can look after myself.”

  Again, he ignored her, pulling out a lavender evening gown embroidered with rows of tiny blue forget-me-nots. It was one of her favorite dresses, but not tonight. Not since he’d chosen it for her to wear.

  “Stand up,” he said. “Let’s get you into this.”

  She wrapped the coverlet tighter around herself. “I told you I don’t need your assistance. You may go.”

  He eyed the gown and the long row of tiny buttons that ran along the back. “Don’t be absurd. You’d never manage to fasten even half of these buttons on your own.”

  “Then I shall choose another dress.”

  There must be an easier-to-fasten gown somewhere in her luggage. Maybe one of her sketching dresses?

  “There are no other dresses,” he said, as if he were fully aware of her thoughts. “At least not ones you can put on without an extra pair of hands. And if you’re thinking about donning one of those disreputable rags you wear when you see to your animals or go painting, I’ll tell you right now that I had the lot of them burned.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You did not!”

  “No wife of mine is going to parade around in public looking like the lowliest of scullery maids.”

  “How dare you. Those were my dresses and you had no right—”

  “I had every right,” he said, cutting her off. “I am your husband and you are a viscountess now. I expect you to look like one. Now, stand up and let me assist you into this gown so that we may go below and dine.”

  Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the bedclothes harder and shot him a glare.

  He arched a single dark brow. “Or would you rather forgo the evening meal and get straight to bed? I can undress you just as easily as dress you, you know.”

  Words of outrage trembled on her lips. How she wished she could tell him to go straight to the devil. But she hesitated, aware by now exactly how dangerous it could be to spar with him. She’d learned early how to spot a lethal predator; she was coming to understand that he might be the most lethal one of all.

  Still, she held out against him for a few seconds longer before loosening her hold on the counterpane without entirely letting it go. “You could at least turn your back.”

  He gave a quick laugh. “Oh, I think not. And might I remind you that I’ll be seeing far more than those pretty unmentionables of yours quite soon. Now, up you come.”

  She considered protesting again but realized he had her neatly trapped.

 
Loathsome cur.

  Flinging back the coverlet, she hurried to her feet and turned her back to him as quickly as possible.

  She waited, wondering what he would do. But he only chuckled.

  “Raise your arms.”

  The dress billowed around her as he lifted the gown up and over. Her head popped out seconds later as he settled the material into place with nothing more than a few quick, efficient tugs.

  He really did know how to dress a woman, didn’t he? Given his reputation, she supposed he’d done this for a great many women. Dozens? Hundreds?

  Her forehead creased, her stomach quivering at the thought of his vast experience and her complete lack.

  She held still as he set to work on the buttons, his fingers brushing ever so faintly against her corset-covered back as he moved upward.

  His pace slowed as he came to the last few buttons.

  Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.

  Breath caught in her throat as he skimmed his thumbs over the sensitive skin along the nape of her neck, hot shivers chasing after one another in crazy circles.

  Leaning nearer, he pressed a kiss against the edge of her jaw and another behind her ear before he took her earlobe between his teeth. He bit, exerting just enough pressure to send her pulse ricocheting yet careful not to cause pain.

  She barely had time to adjust to the novel sensation when he slid his hands down and around to boldly cup her breasts. He held her without an ounce of inhibition, cupping and exploring her flesh with a shocking kind of possession. It was as if he owned her body and could do anything he liked, which, given marriage laws and the ring on her hand, some might say he did.

  Her mind turned dull as he caressed her further, her lips parting on a silent gasp. For despite the material of her dress and the confinement of her stays, his touch left her feeling naked, as if there was nothing between their skin but air.

  Her nipples drew taut, the intimate place between her legs aching in a way she didn’t expect or fully understand.

  Then, as abruptly as their interlude had begun, he let her go.

  She shuddered and fought to keep her balance, her hands clenching at her sides.