The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Victoria immediately suspected he was seeing more than he should. But when she turned to discover his eyes were closed, she leaned her head back and kissed him on his jaw. “Would you tell me if you found me... lacking in some regard?”

  Tom’s eyes opened in astonishment. “I rather doubt that’s possible—”

  “Besides my foot, I mean,” she said as she placed one of her hands on the back of his and moved it up from her waist to cover one breast. She sucked in a breath as his hand molded the mound, the tips of his fingers barely caressing her skin. Her puckered nipple slipped between two fingers, and she nearly wept when his thumb brushed over the tip of it.

  His breath ragged, Tom gave her breast a gentle squeeze. “I don’t doubt it’s possible, Victoria. I know it’s not possible,” he murmured as his hand moved to the other breast. “Besides, I already know you have a perfect bum,” he added as he gently kneaded the breast.

  “Bounder,” she murmured, gasping at the sensations created by his touch.

  “If I don’t get you dressed right now, I shall be having my way with you,” he warned as he lifted the chemise and placed it over her head. “And our dinner will be cold.”

  Realizing the moment of intimacy was over, Victoria mewled and turned to face him. She finished pulling on the chemise, her eyes never leaving his. When it was time for the petticoats, he raised them over her head and dropped them, one after another, their volume of fabric briefly coming between them until all three were settled on her hips.

  “Something tells me that if I let go, you won’t topple over,” Tom teased as he hesitantly stepped back and grabbed the orchid ball gown from the bed. “Your petticoats will hold you up.”

  “I’ll simply aim for you should I topple over,” she murmured, wavering a bit as she balanced on her one good foot and the ball of her crushed foot.

  Yards and yards of orchid satin and sarcenet fell around her. When her head finally appeared through the neckline, she gave Tom a quelling glance. “There are more fastenings you could have first undone in the back.”

  Given the layers of petticoats and gown that threatened to separate them, Tom said, “Now I know why it was so easy for my parents to court one another,” he said with a smirk.

  Victoria giggled, the first sound of amusement he had heard from her since her bath. She finished dressing and then turned her back to him. “My ankle does not pain me much,” she claimed. “Perhaps I can ride tomorrow?”

  “Me? Or a horse?” Tom asked with a teasing grin as he did up the few fastenings.

  Her eyes narrowing as she glanced at him over her shoulder, Victoria asked, “If I do the one, will I be allowed to do the other?”

  Tom blinked, wondering if she was teasing him. “Always,” he whispered. “Anytime.” He paused a moment. “Well, when we’re alone, of course.”

  Suddenly embarrassed by her flirtatious behavior—Victoria couldn’t believe she had put voice to such a scandalous suggestion—she quickly faced away from him. “I’ve never said anything like that before,” she whispered.

  Tom leaned his head down, her silken hair brushing his cheek. “I’m relieved you’ve made that clear, but I rather like knowing you would say it to me.”

  She turned and regarded him, her brows furrowed. “You must think me fast.”

  He shook his head. “No. In fact, I’ve just this moment realized that you are nothing like any of my sisters.”

  “They were fast?” she asked, astonished.

  Tom shook his head. “No, but... well, yes.”

  Victoria blinked. “All of them?”

  “No, oh, God, no. Just the youngest. I learned last Sunday morning that Emily has already been intimate with her betrothed,” he said on a sigh.

  “Well, isn’t that to be expected?” Victoria countered. At his look of surprise, she added, “My mother told my sister and I we wouldn’t make it to our wedding nights with our virtues intact. She said it was a man’s right to bed his betrothed before the wedding.” She furrowed a brow. “Surely, you are expecting to do the same with me, or you wouldn’t keep suggesting we’re going to make love tonight.”

  Tom blinked, thinking about what he was hoping to do with Victoria later. Even if they didn’t make love, he had planned to stay with her for the night. At least under the same roof. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “If you’re amenable.”

  Victoria inhaled softly, skitters of delight racing down her spine and through her belly. Upton had never had this effect on her. She had barely known the man. But from the first day she had met Tom, it didn’t seem to matter if she liked him or not—her body reacted as if she should.

  And who was she to argue?

  “Do you still expect me to dance with you?”

  Dipping his head—the query was entirely unexpected—Tom said, “If not tonight, then sometime soon, when your ankle is healed.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “I was looking to forward to it.”

  “You minx,” he replied with a grin. “We’ll dance tonight. I’ll carry you if you’re ankle is not up to it.”

  “I’ll need to wear something on my feet,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, the silver satin slippers,” he remembered as he tipped the lids on several of the boxes until he found the right pair. He knelt before her. “Hang on to my shoulders,” he instructed as he saw to helping her into the shoes.

  “They both fit perfectly,” she breathed. “I may even be able to walk.”

  “I’ll carry you until it’s time to dance,” he countered.

  “Will you take me to the stables?”

  “Now?”

  “No. Later. I like to take a walk after dinner, visit the horses before Jemmy goes to bed.”

  “Very well,” he replied, curious if the grooms were present when she was out after dark. Hopefully, Thompson had been keeping watch.

  Tom pulled his Breguet from his pocket. “We have a few minutes before dinner.” He reached out and slid his fingers through her hair. Although it was combed out and nearly dry, he thought it lacked something. “Have you a purple ribbon? For your hair?”

  It was Victoria’s turn to blink. “All my ribbons are in the top drawer,” she murmured.

  Tom confirmed she was standing upright with a hand on the nearest chair before he quickly moved to the dresser. He opened the drawer to discover ribbons of every imaginable color rolled into circles. “Well, I can see I won’t be spending much blunt on fripperies,” he remarked as he found the matching ribbon for her gown.

  “Surely not after all the blunt you’ve spent on shoes,” she reminded him as Tom moved behind her. He grinned as he gathered hair from her temples and pulled the two swaths of black silk to the back of her head. He secured them with the ribbon and then tied a bow. Then, because there was enough ribbon, he tied another atop the first.

  “You’ve done this before,” Victoria accused, a streak of jealousy tingeing her voice.

  “I have five sisters,” he reminded her. “I used to have to do this for the youngest one—the fast one—before she had her own lady’s maid.”

  He dipped his head, remembering the morning before when he had watched as Emily and James exchanged vows at the same time Gabe and Frances exchanged theirs. Even without many people in attendance—until the rest of the family returned from Derbyshire, he was Emily’s only close relative in town—the double ceremony had been simple and memorable. He hoped Juliet had agreed to wed Haddon so that their double ceremony would be much the same. “By the way, Emily married James Burroughs yesterday morning,” he added.

  Victoria whirled around, nearly toppling when she didn’t catch herself before Tom did. “She married my banker?” she asked in surprise.

  “My best friend,” he countered, surprised by her words. Then his brows furrowed, reminded of their first afternoon together. “Tell me, my love. How was it you came to learn enough about steam buses to want to invest in them?”

  Her eyes darting sideways, Victoria attempted to suppress
a grin and could not. “My banker?” she replied sheepishly.

  “That blighter!” he replied with a huge grin. At no point during their evenings at White’s had James Burroughs admitted his role in Victoria’s choice for an investment.

  A knock at the door had the two calling out, “Come” at the same time. And they chuckled.

  Clark gingerly opened the door. “Dinner is served, my lady, sir.” His expression of trepidation was soon replaced with surprise at seeing his mistress dressed for dinner—and in good spirits.

  “Thank you, Clark,” Tom said. He turned to Victoria, a frown slowly forming. “However am I to find you in all of this fabric?” he asked as he moved to lift her into his arms.

  She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck. “Just like this,” she replied as one of his arms found the back of her knees while the other settled against the back of her waist. She reached up and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

  “Careful, my lady, or we shall be foregoing dinner all together,” he warned.

  “We shall not,” Victoria whispered. “I’m starving.”

  “A man can try,” Tom said as he carried her down the stairs.

  Chapter 36

  Winter Wedding Vows Before the Ceremony

  Meanwhile, at the Comber townhouse

  “I cannot help but fear that I have overstayed my welcome,” Christopher said when Juliet accompanied him to the front door. Her mother had insisted the earl stay for dinner, and he had, even though he had complained about his lack of proper dress.

  “Nonsense,” Juliet replied. “It was good we discussed the wedding plans, such as they are. And truth be told, talk of our wedding has me rather excited.”

  Christopher’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

  She dimpled. “The sooner we’re wed, the sooner we can begin work on populating your nursery,” she whispered.

  Blinking, the earl seemed to have difficulty breathing. “True, but you needn’t make it sound as if it will be a chore.”

  Juliet regarded him with an arched brow. “My mother has said that having babies is quite taxing—”

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” he assured her.

  “That it can be quite painful.”

  “I’ll provide you two hours of pleasure for every hour of pain,” he promised.

  “That you might take a mistress should you find my body too terribly misshapen after a few babies, with my breasts overly large and my hips wider.”

  “Never,” he vowed, rather liking the image she was creating with her words.

  “You swear to that?” she asked in surprise, her eyes wide.

  “I do,” he replied, holding up his right hand.

  “I would call you a toadie, but I do believe I feel too much affection for you to call you such an awful name,” she murmured.

  “Too much?” he repeated, thinking he hadn’t really minded her occasional nickname for him. She had always said it with such affection. “Truly?”

  Juliet nodded as she seemed to struggle for her next words. “If you had asked me just three days ago if I could imagine myself married to you, I would have said no,” she whispered. “But now... now it’s as if I have seen our entire future together, and I rather like it.”

  “As do I,” Christopher said, hoping he was imagining the same scenarios.

  “We’ll pay frequent calls on Vicky and Mr. Grandby.”

  “I will allow you spend an entire day with Vicky every week, as you do now,” he assured her.

  “But only while you’re stuck in Parliament,” she replied. “Or meeting your friends at your club.”

  “And we’ll pay calls on your parents and mine,” he offered.

  “Agreed.”

  “Four days.”

  “Four days?” she repeated.

  “Until we wed. I must send a missive to Tom Grandby to let him know. I’ll be sure my mother invites him and Vicky to the dinner party. I expect that will be the night before the ceremony.”

  “I will send a note to Vicky,” Juliet said. Then she blinked. “Does my mother know all this?”

  A dimple she had never noticed before appeared in Christopher’s cheek. “She does. As does my mother.”

  Juliet furrowed a brow. “Christopher Carlington, just what have you been up to?” she asked, as she moved close enough to raise her hands to his shoulders.

  Christopher grinned and began to explain.

  Her mother, who hadn’t been in the study when her father and Christopher were discussing such details, had insisted on learning the earl’s intentions.

  Had he a date in mind for the ceremony?

  “Tomorrow,” he had replied, as if that were possible. And then he added, “I have a special license, as does Mr. Grandby. The women will insist on a double wedding, but I understand from my mother that we have to wait at least three days and possibly up to a week before we can wed.”

  Lady Julia had blinked. “Oh. I can work with that. Although we surely don’t have a large enough dining room to host a wedding breakfast.”

  “But Carlington House does,” he assured her. “Mother will insist on hosting, if you’re of a mind to allow it.”

  Considering Julia had conferred with the marchioness earlier that morning over tea—she had received an invitation only the day before—she was already apprised of Adeline’s desire to play hostess for both a dinner party announcing the betrothal as well as the breakfast.

  “I’ve not had a wedding party at the house since Elizabeth married, and that was ages ago,” Adeline had complained, despite Elizabeth having been right there in the parlor with them.

  Even now, Julia could still hear Elizabeth’s scolding, “Mother!”

  Elizabeth wasn’t that old.

  So how could Julia argue with the generous offer?

  Did he have a place in mind?

  “My mother will insist on St. George’s, but—”

  “As do I,” Julia had said.

  “Which is available to us in four days,” Christopher had said, rather proud of his role in the arrangements. “I’ve already paid the priest to hold the church for us.”

  Julia had given him one of those approving looks he so needed to see now and again. A look that suggested he had done something right. “Four days, then,” she had said. “I’ll leave you to inform your bride.”

  After a moment of enduring his lingering gaze, Juliet dimpled and said, “Four days. I shall be there, with bells on.”

  “And a gown, I should hope,” he said. His expression was so serious, as if he were attempting to memorize everything about her face, Juliet nearly laughed.

  Instead, she asked, “Well, are you going to kiss me? Or are you in need of a pen and paper so you can do a drawing of me?”

  A grin of delight appeared on Christopher’s lips. “The latter I may do when I am next in your company,” he replied, “But right now...” He bent and covered her lips with his own, heartened when she pressed her body against the front of his. At hearing her soft moan, he deepened the kiss and then finally, reluctantly, pulled away. “I promise, making love will not seem like work,” he whispered.

  “I should hope not,” she replied with a wink.

  “I’ll be just down the street. At our townhouse, should you wish to pay a call and take a tour,” he suggested, his eyebrows waggling. “I took the liberty of ordering the same sort of chairs your mother has in the front salon,” he went on. “But you’ll have to choose which color of peony you’d like on the fabric.”

  Juliet giggled. “I really don’t care,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome to move in anytime.”

  “Toadie,” she accused, her eyes widening in delight.

  The sound of a clearing throat had Christopher taking his leave of the Comber townhouse in a hurry.

  “Father!” Juliet complained. “I’ve almost got him eating out of my hand.”

  Alistair shook his head. “He’s a man, Juliet. Not a horse,” he admonished her.

/>   Juliet’s eyes darted sideways, not about to counter his claim.

  The training methods the two species required seemed so much the same.

  Chapter 37

  Dinner and a Dance

  Meanwhile, at Fairmont Park

  “Which way?” Tom asked as he reached the bottom step.

  Victoria pointed to the right. “Second door.”

  He entered the dining room, soon realizing it was more of a dining hall. The pale green walls were long—almost the length of half the house—and the room was thin. Ornate white plasterwork featured on all the walls as well as the ceiling. Two white marble fireplaces interrupted the short walls, and long carpets stretched the length of the long walls on either side of the massive oak table. “Entertain much?” he teased.

  “If you’re asking if I’ve ever hosted a dinner party, then no,” she replied. “Although my mother used to, back in the day.”

  “But you’ve had guests in here,” he insisted.

  “Only Juliet. Michael, of course. And now you.” Tom was about to lower her into a carver at one end of the table, but she said, “Don’t you dare. That’s your chair. For tonight, mine is to your right.”

  “Not at the other end of the table?” he teased.

  With twelves chairs on either side, the other carver was a long ways away.

  “Only if we host a dinner party,” she replied.

  Not about to argue, Tom set her into the chair next to the right of the carver and took the carver for himself. He held one hand to his brow while he stared down the length of the table, sure it was as long as the one in his great-uncle Milton’s house in Park Lane. “Ah, I can make out the opposite end,” he murmured playfully as he settled into the armed chair, surprised that it was more comfortable than he expected. “I already feel like the man of the house. But perhaps we should procure a shorter table.”

  “It needs one,” Victoria whispered.

  Tom furrowed a brow. “Are you speaking of the house? Or the table?”