Against the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 2)

by Regan Walker

  “Congratulations, Martin, old man!” Ormond enthused to his friend, slapping him on the back. “You have made a wise decision—finally.”

  “Thank you for inviting us, Lady Egerton,” said Pris, who was the next to congratulate them. “We were ever so pleased to attend. You are like an older sister, you know.”

  And, Abby…Abby just tilted her head to the side and smiled, tears running down her cheeks. “I am so happy for you, my darling child. And to think, the two of you met in my home.” With a slight wince she added, “Well, I guess I won’t be saying much about that. But it does my heart good to have played a small part.”

  It seemed her new friend the marchioness had gone to a great deal of trouble. Inside the townhouse there was a wonderful meal waiting, followed by a large tiered marchpane cake decorated with white roses like those Kit carried. Kit thought the cake would serve many more people than attended. Perhaps the servants would enjoy it this evening.

  Champagne was passed around freely, and many toasts were uttered congratulating the newlyweds and wishing them a fruitful union, the latter causing Kit to blush, though Martin looked pleased. The toasts reminded Kit again that she had always loved children and wanted her own. Her eyes drifted to her bridegroom. What kind of father would he be? She had seen him at ease holding baby Henry. Would he one day hold their child like that? The thought of an ebony-haired boy with Martin’s grin brought a smile to her face.

  After the toasts, Ormond asked them to raise a glass to another event that had occurred the day before. Azor, the chestnut colt out of his favorite stallion, had won the Epsom Derby.

  “Three cheers for Azor!” said Martin enthusiastically. “And three cheers for my good friends Lord and Lady Ormond!”

  Kit was amused to see Mary roll her eyes and say, “Now there will be no living with my husband.”

  Pris and Pen giggled, each having consumed a glass of champagne, and sneaked glances at John Spencer, seated between them, who seemed delighted with the attention. Among the gifts Kit and Martin received was one from the twins, a new device called a kaleidoscope that had become all the rage in London in the last few months. The guests passed it around, remarking on the world of color it spun before the eye. Kit truly thought it a marvel, and her new husband had just picked it up when Abby turned to Mary.

  “Your husband seems quite fond of horses, my lady.”

  “We both are, actually,” the marchioness replied. “A friendly rivalry. I think my black stallion Midnight is much more the horse than my husband’s chestnut that sired Azor, but Ormond will have none of it. It was the horses that brought us together, you see. It is no wonder he thought of Azor today.”

  Ormond chimed in, “Among our many shared interests is a love of horses.” When he reached over and kissed Mary’s temple, Kit smiled. The love the two had for each other shone on their faces. Would she ever share such a love with her husband? Would she want to? Such a love was dangerous. Such a love could be lost. Sighing deeply, she returned her mind to the guests.

  Martin grinned at her. “We will find common interests, Kit, I am certain. Do you like the sea perhaps? Ships?”

  Kit did not have to think long before answering. “I have always yearned to see faraway places.” When she and Anne were young children their mother had often read to them stories of distant lands. She had dreamed of countries she had never seen, of tropical isles and exotic faces she would love to draw. Her father had been a dreamer, too. She supposed she had inherited his wanderlust.

  Martin reached for her hand and grinned broadly, a lock of ebony hair falling onto his forehead. Kit thought he looked rakishly charming, indigo eyes sparkling, and she fought the urge to reach up and sweep the lock of hair from his forehead. “One day we shall see all those places together, wife.”

  The reminder of her new status made Kit’s cheeks warm, and she hurriedly took another drink of champagne, certain a blush had crept into her cheeks.

  Martin leaned over and whispered, “You look lovely, Kitten. Absolutely beautiful.”

  The afternoon was an island of celebration in what Kit knew was a sea of uncertainty, so she was determined to fully enjoy the respite. She had the feeling her life in the future would not be so tranquil.

  Chapter 12

  It was their wedding night, and Martin wondered what he would find as he ascended the stairs to the chamber he would share with his bride. His wife. How strange that word sounded after so many years. He hadn’t planned to marry again, hadn’t wanted to risk taking another wife with his life as it was. But then he’d made love to a bewitching auburn-haired woman who seemed not of this world, and somehow he couldn’t let her go. Now, though strangers still, they were wed.

  With feelings of both trepidation and anticipation, he walked to the door behind which she’d disappeared several minutes earlier. He supposed he should have given her more time to ready herself, especially since he’d agreed to her absurd demand that they have a pause before consummating their marriage. But then again, he might find her undressing, and that pleasant thought caused him to turn the handle and enter without knocking.

  A young maid was helping Kit undress as he stepped into the bedchamber. “I’ll take over from here. You may go.”

  The maid blushed and scurried out, obviously grateful to leave the newly wedded couple alone. Kit had her back to him, only partially undressed, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat. “Did you forget our arrangement?”

  “No, I did not forget,” he said, quietly moving to place his hands on her warm, bare shoulders. Her gown would have fallen to the floor had she not clutched it to her breasts. “Still, this is our wedding night, Kitten, and I would be with you. It would seem strange, would it not, if the groom were to find more joy with his guests than his bride?”

  Her long auburn hair hung in waves down her back, bared to his view by the unfastened gown and corset. Her pale skin glowed like a rich pearl providing the perfect contrast to those fiery tresses, and despite his resolve his body responded. He wanted to touch her, to slide his hands under that loose gown and cup her warm, full breasts. He grew hard just thinking about the prospect.

  “Ah, Kitten.” He pressed a kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Can I help you finish undressing? You smell wonderful.” The scent of roses mixed with her own scent, sweet and exotic, swirling around his head as he nuzzled her neck with his mouth.

  “I can finish, myself. Just give me a moment.” She pulled away, but not before he heard a soft moan. He was not alone in having trouble with the arrangement they’d reached. He took some pleasure in that.

  It was obvious she wanted privacy, but he had no intention of leaving or rendering this forced distance easy when what he really desired was to make love to her. “I’ll just turn around, shall I?”

  He did so. Behind him, Martin heard the sound of her clothing falling to the floor, and his mind conjured a picture of her naked, clothed only in moonlight. He had a vague fear he would be walking around in a perpetual state of arousal as long as this introductory phase lasted. It had best be short.

  He turned to face her. Dressed in a sheer nightgown that did nothing to disguise her curves, she reached for a silk wrapper. Martin took a deep breath and forced his gaze back to her eyes, but it seemed as if he glided toward her, no longer feeling the floor beneath his feet. He gave her the gentlest of kisses and his hand cupped her shoulder, afraid if he put his hand anywhere else their agreement would come to an abrupt end.

  A quick intake of her breath confirmed she was not indifferent to his touch. “You gave your word.”

  “Oh, all right. So you are serious about this—?”

  “I am.” Her insistent blue eyes and a raised brow told him she wouldn’t change her mind, not even when she had to deny her own desire, at least not tonight.

  “Then let us have a toast to our marriage,” Martin said, resigned.

  “But we’ve had many toasts.
”

  “None by ourselves.”

  Taking off his coat, he reached for the champagne he’d had delivered to their room. Pouring the sparkling wine into two glasses, he handed one to her. “To us,” he said, raising his glass, “and to a strange beginning come right.”

  “To us,” his wife echoed, and she took a sip, a faint smile on her lips, those luscious lips.

  The memory of another night and a toast long ago crept unbidden into his mind, the night he’d lost Elise. But he was able to shake it off. Ignoring the brief feeling of foreboding, he focused his gaze on the woman before him. Somehow he would get through this night. And he would be patient with his lovely wife, though he could not be patient for long.

  * * *

  Kit stretched and yawned as sunlight streamed into the room from the two tall windows, and twisted her head to see the empty pillow next to her. Martin was gone.

  How had he managed to wake so early? He had insisted on sleeping next to her, though he’d kept his promise and not exercised his husbandly rights. For that she was grateful, though it had been torture lying so close to his warmth and being unable to reach out and touch him. At one point she had awakened to find her head nestled against his shoulder. She had moved away quickly, but his arm had snaked out and pulled her back.

  “No, Kitten. I like you close,” he’d whispered in a gravelly voice. For a long time she had lain awake, trying to still her restless heart. Finally she’d fallen back to sleep.

  She’d best rise and dress. He had told her last night it would be a busy day.

  At breakfast, over warm, crusty rolls and coffee, Mary told her Martin was attending to an errand at the docks, something to do with his family’s business, and would return by noon. Last night he’d informed her they would leave this afternoon for Derbyshire in the Midlands. Why, Kit wondered? It was certainly no wedding trip. She asked Mary, but the marchioness was vague, explaining only that Martin’s work required him to be there and that he would not leave his new bride behind.

  “You look happy if tired, Kit. I told you all would be well.”

  Kit fought a blush and knew she lost when Mary smiled. “That good, was it?”

  She did not want to admit to her friend that the marriage was not yet consummated, but she could speak a truth that would satisfy her hostess. “We seem to be well matched in one way, at least.”

  “I think you are well matched in more ways than that, Kit. He may not realize it yet, but I believe Martin is quite smitten. He is just what you need, ever the protector, and you are a woman worthy of his many talents.”

  “No,” Kit said, looking down at her coffee and toying with her roll. “Martin is not smitten, but I am glad I made the decision to marry him all the same.”

  The marchioness gave her a knowing smile and offered to help her pack. “Just allow me to feed little Henry, and I will be with you.”

  Martin returned with John a few hours later, and Ormond arrived shortly thereafter. Kit was in the parlor talking to Mary when the trio joined them. Martin strode over to kiss her temple.

  “Hello, Kitten. I missed you this morning.”

  She gave him her sweetest smile, relieved he was not holding a grudge for their bargain.

  The butler announced the luncheon would soon be ready. Mary had told them the cook was creating a feast, aware they might not encounter the same food at coaching inns on the carriage ride north, and a feast it was. A salad of oranges followed a wonderful fish soup. A magnificent roast chicken followed, and a baked ham with sauce, and side dishes of roasted carrots and a ragout of celery. Dessert was a wonderful confection of poached pears in honey and a pudding with cinnamon and raisins.

  As the last bit of pudding was consumed, Ormond, who had come home for the meal, herded Martin and John into his library “for port and a few words” as he put it, while Kit and Mary lingered over tea. Having eaten everything, Kit was quite sated when she went upstairs to don her traveling dress of fine green wool. Later, she and Mary rejoined the men who were discussing the trip north.

  “You might catch my friend Hart at home in Derbyshire,” Ormond said to Martin. “Your destination of Pentridge is a part of his lands lying south of Chatsworth, his home. If you can call nearly a hundred thousand acres and a house as grand as a palace merely ‘a home.’”

  “Hart?” repeated Martin.

  “Ah, yes. You might have heard of him as the Sixth Duke of Devonshire,” said Ormond. “But since he was born the Marquess of Hartington, his family and friends have always called him Hart. He’s still a young man, only in his middle twenties.”

  “Something tells me we may not be moving in those circles on this trip,” said Martin.

  “Well, he is a good friend of the Prince Regent and a good friend of mine, should you have need of assistance. I’ve sent him a note to expect you without notice. Hart doesn’t stand on ceremony.”

  “Now, that I will remember. One can always use a friend if things get sticky.”

  “I’ve never seen the Midlands,” said John wistfully.

  “That part of England is very different, very rural and not at all like London,” Martin announced. “You’ll find life much slower there.” He turned and squeezed Kit’s hand. “We had better depart if we are to put some distance between us and London this day.”

  “I do wish you would wait until tomorrow to depart,” said Mary, looking concerned. “Traveling at night can be dangerous. The roads are still plagued by robbers.”

  “Much as I’d like to spend another night with my new bride beneath your roof, my lady, we must away. I am anxious to get to Pentridge. Things are happening too fast for me to delay any longer…and you know I am always prepared should we encounter any difficulty.”

  Mary replied, “I should have realized. How silly of me.”

  “Perhaps,” Kit suggested, “I should tend to the last few things I want to take with me.”

  Martin nodded. “Yes, it’s time.” Then he faced Kit, took an item from his waistcoat pocket and placed it in her hand. When she looked up at him in question, he said of the plain gold ring, “Wear it in the Midlands, Kitten. Leave your other jewelry behind.”

  She nodded, wondering why, but upon reflection decided he was being wise. The gowns she would take were simple, apart from a lovely riding habit upon which Mary insisted, but none were like the finery she would leave behind.

  Accepting a kiss on the cheek from her husband, Kit followed Mary upstairs. There she folded the last of her things into her small trunk and a valise, while Mary left the room for a moment, returning with the stable boy clothes Kit had worn on their one adventure.

  “These might prove useful where you are traveling, Kit. I myself prefer to ride dressed as a man, though I have to be careful I am not observed by any in the ton save a few close friends. I’m already considered a hoyden. These are clothes I brought back from France. You are welcome to them.”

  Kit wondered what circumstances might cause her to want to dress as a lad again, but she took the clothes all the same. “I suppose it will not hurt.”

  Like John, Kit had never been to the Midlands before, but she knew of its beauty from friends who had traveled north. She was looking forward to seeing what she had heard were beautiful rolling green hills, but she was definitely not looking forward to a long carriage ride. The roads were dusty, often muddy, and returning passengers she’d spoken with complained of being tossed to and fro. Still, she would happily endure the rough ride for the sheer delight of seeing someplace new. Besides, the farther she was from Rutledge the better. Perhaps in the country, with fewer demands, there would be time for Martin and her to get to know each other.

  It was late afternoon by the time the traveling coach was loaded. Mary kissed her on the cheek and bade her a safe journey. Martin handed her into the sleek black carriage pulled by four black horses, and he climbed in to sit beside her on the green velvet seat. John followed, taking the seat across from them. In a tender manner, Martin settled a lap r
obe over Kit’s knees then signaled the coachman to depart.

  At first all she saw was the city as they left the West End to take the main road north. They traveled for several hours. Kit watched the buildings and homes grow sparser until they were finally passing only countryside, and twilight overtook them. Sitting close, Martin held her hand, leaned his head back onto the seat and closed his eyes, not saying much. John entertained her with stories of his unusual family, all girls save for him.

  “’Tis like having six mothers to have a mother and five older sisters. Even though they are all married now, they still treat me like I was one of their babes.”

  “I don’t think you mind overmuch, John,” Kit said, not able to help the smile that crept over her face. It was easy to like him. With all those sisters, no wonder he was comfortable with women.

  “No, m’lady, ’tis the truth I do not mind, not much. Besides, my sisters’ coddling of me is all I’ve ever known. I had to get away to France to become a man.”

  They bumped along in the fast-moving coach, Kit feeling every mile once they left the town behind and encountered the rutted rural roads. And the day was cold. They passed beautiful rolling hills on which sheep grazed like small white clouds painted on a vast green canvas, but by then she was longing for a steaming bath. An hour later, night had fallen as the carriage slowed to take a knoll. Suddenly, Kit heard the horses make a sharp snorting noise as if in alarm. The carriage stopped abruptly and the coachman shouted, “Whoa!” as she heard him trying to rein in the frightened steeds.

  “Merde,” Martin growled under his breath, coming to life at her side. Then he shoved her to the floor with an urgent whisper. “Stay down!”

  Men talked outside the carriage. A deep voice ordered the coachman to leave his hands on the reins, and Martin whispered to John, “Cover your side. Wait until they are close. Then, at my signal, shoot through the door.”

  Without a sound, John crouched and drew his pistol, aiming it just below the curtain-covered window.

  Highwaymen! Cold fear cut through Kit like a knife. She’d heard stories of the bandits who frequented these lonely roads north of London, particularly on a night bathed in moonlight such as this.