by Pendle, Eve
Lord Markshall,
Thank you for this information. I have arranged a nurse.
Your interference is not welcome. I do not want your money after all this time. If you contact me, my sister, or my niece again, I will be forced to take action.
Lady Lakenham
It was a wave. A high of knowing a nurse had been sent to Annie. Troughs of the inevitable loathing Matilda showed with each line. The crash of her threat, now he had Lady Emily to protect. Lady Lakenham would do anything she could to defend her sister against him. He understood that but couldn’t allow Emily to be caught in it. One night, one foolish impulse, and he had more to lose than ever before. With one word Lady Lakenham could bring him down and Lady Emily with him.
Annie would have the best care possible now her aunt knew she was unwell. It ought to release him from his duty. Given Lady Lakenham’s threat, he ought to forget about his daughter all together.
He couldn’t. His hand shook as he released the telegram into the hall fireplace, where it curled, smoked, then lit in yellow flame. When he arrived home, he’d write to Sir Thomas in Elmswell and direct him to inform him immediately of all developments in Annie’s condition. Damn the risk.
The second telegram was from Lord Selby, acknowledging his last message and urging him to secure the absence of more reactionary lords if he could before attention would be passed to the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act. This telegram followed the last into the fire. He watched until he was sure both missives were ash.
Now then. Oscar took a deep breath. He had work to do. Wandering into the lounge he wove his way through, greeting each person with a quip or a facetious question. He made his way to lords who counted him as one of their own. Entrenched Tories.
This job of his necessitated he talk to the most pink and white of Tories with the most selfish of views of the world. He loathed it. The men he’d once counted as friends, after that fatal night when his eyes had been opened, he now counted as his covert enemies.
“Is there some decent Scotch in?” he asked Lord Bradley and Lord Florint as he flopped into an available leather chair. “I’ve been rusticating for a fortnight and I’m gasping for something made by a professional rather than a cow farmer.”
“Markshall, good to see you,” Bradley welcomed him. “What were you doing down in Devon? I didn’t know you had an estate down there.”
“Oh, it’s just a little place. I have a little lady down there I like to visit her occasionally.” He made a broad wink and, as he intended, they assumed the basest motive in his comment. His house near Totnes was indeed just a ruse to keep an eye on Fanny, who was barely more than a child.
A discussion of the disadvantages of leaving the capital during the season ensued.
Markshall ordered a Laphroaig and sipped it thoughtfully. “Anything interesting going on in the lower house?”
“No.” Lord Florint rolled his eyes. “Just the members of parliament chattering some nonsense about chimney sweeps getting coughs.”
“What do we care about their snivels.” Oscar sneered. “As long as they do the job.”
“That’s, unfortunately, the point.” Florint tapped his finger on his glass. “They’re going to make it more expensive for us to have our damn chimneys swept. Making men do it rather than the boys.”
“Outrageous,” Oscar said, not hinting at the irony he meant.
“Not only that, but it’s doing the boys out of their honest livelihood,” Lord Bradley added.
“Hmm.” It wasn’t much of a livelihood if they died before they became men. Oscar pretended to think. “I suppose it’s cheaper to pay a man to do a decent job than have some snotty child die up my chimney. The expense of getting him out would be astronomical. Not to mention all that hassle with the police. Is there more of this Scotch? It’s excellent. Though I wouldn’t mind some Talisker if they have it.” He waved his fingers idly to attract the attention of the waiter and ordered another drink. “And for you gentlemen? The same?”
When the Scotch had been refilled in his glass and the other two Lords had complimented him on his taste of whiskey, he asked, “Are you going to turn out for the vote?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” Lord Florint stretched his legs out in front of him. “I need some new Wellingtons and I can’t be spending all my time in the House. My betrothed is nagging and jealous again. She’ll need some flowers and a slap. A man has other things to do.”
“My thoughts precisely.” Oscar did have other things to do. Like either enthrall his counterfeit fiancée or try and purge her from his mind. He didn’t know which, if either, was possible at this point.
“I think I shall go,” said Lord Bradley. “Stand up for young men’s right to work in whatever profession they like.”
Oscar harrumphed. “I would think of my carpets, was I you. All it would take is one sickly child sweeping your chimney and that Axminster rug in your library will never be the same again. Pay a man to do the job properly, I say.”
“It will drive the price of chimney sweeping up, though.” Lord Florint stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“An act of mercy if the middle classes can’t afford another china dog because they pay a man to do boy’s work. The members of the other place think they can afford it, so I’m sure it’s not my responsibility to look out for their wives’ housekeeping expenses.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right.” Lord Bradley sneered.
Lord Florint laughed along, presumably at the expense of his future wife.
The sound made Oscar’s flesh crawl. Neither of these two Lords would oppose the motion, even if he was sure they wouldn’t support it. But his job was just to ensure that good motions passed by the lower house were not blocked by the stodgy self-interests of the upper house.
They discussed the recent bets made in the books, then Oscar left, his work today done.
* * *
Lord Markshall called on her the next morning and sent her mother into a fluster over which sitting room they ought to receive him in. They had surprised the household and the servants were still in the process of opening it up, pulling white sheets off furniture, uncovering carpets. The butler had yet to hire the prerequisite matching footmen for the season. Emily and her mother had spent the previous day, immediately after arriving, directing servants and frowning over menus.
As it turned out, her mother’s concern about whether the sage green morning room would be appropriate for such an interview was irrelevant.
“Would you care to go for a drive?” Oscar asked, still standing after the pleasantries had been seen to.
“That’s kind. But are you sure you can spare the time?” She was busy. There were letters to write to family and friends, informing them of their arrival, as well as appointments with a modiste to be arranged. “We can have tea here if you prefer.” Being busy meant she couldn’t worry about how she was to make sure Connie’s debut wasn’t overshadowed by her scandal. And she couldn’t possibly think about a pair of eyes so blue they put the spring sky to shame. Much. She hadn’t expected to see him for a least a week, even though her heart skipped at the sight of him, his twirling in his hands undermining his determinedly idle expression.
“I thought you liked fresh air, Lady Emily? Besides, we are engaged and driving in public is what happily engaged couples do.” His smile was self-assured. “I have a high perch phaeton if that is an added inducement. And I can’t leave you cooped up in this tiny house.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. This was one of the largest houses in Mayfair. She glanced over at her mother, who nodded her approval.
“Oh, well, if it won’t inconvenience you, I’d be delighted.” She would just have to finish her chores later. “I’ll be just a moment fetching my garb if you wouldn’t mind waiting.”
He nodded. “If her grace will excuse me, I’ll be outside seeing to the horses.”
In her bedroom, she grabbed up her red tartan cloak and a matching scarlet hat covered with silk flowers.
From the chest of drawers, she pulled her burgundy kid gloves. She shrugged into her cloak as she descended the stairs, paused at the hall mirror to secure her hat with a pin, and strode out of the door.
He was an able driver, she noted as they drove away from the square, even in the notoriously tricky high perch phaeton, the favorite of fashionable young men.
“When they you go to rake school, is driving a high perch one of the examinations?” she asked lightly.
“Oh yes.” He immediately seemed to understand the game. “As is how to find secluded spots for seduction, cheat at cards and hold your drink. It’s a very comprehensive syllabus.”
A secluded spot for seduction. He was good at that. First the hole, and now he was driving the phaeton away from the respectably populated section of the park.
Except, he hadn’t taken advantage of her when they’d been together all night. “Did you fail any of the tests?”
“Well, there’s an annual examination on ignoring one’s conscience. I used to get excellent marks in that one. In recent years I have been having more trouble.” He steered the horses adeptly around a pothole.
“Really? Does your conscience bother you?” She still wasn’t sure what his true opinion was.
“Only a little. Not enough to stop me enjoying having you sit snugly close to me.” He flashed her a wicked grin, then looked back to the horses, giving them all his attention.
“What else did you fail?” He was odd. One minute sounding so serious, the next making it clear everything was a joke. It was confusing. With him, the correct track was distinct, but the hound in her kept picking up another scent and trying to go down another path.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was cum laude in all other areas of rakish behavior.” They went past another vehicle and he reassured the horses in a low voice.
“Well, not seduction.” She was baiting him, and it was crazy. “You could have seduced me when we were trapped together, but you didn’t.”
“So now you think me incapable of seducing you?” He shot her a smoldering look.
“Well, if the cap fits...” If she could provoke a reaction from him in the daylight, maybe she could see him better.
“The dutch cap would fit, but wasn’t available, that was the problem,” he muttered under his breath.
Probably he didn’t intend for her to hear that, but the wind brought it. She had no idea what a dutch cap was, or why it would fit.
“Can you swim, Lady Emily?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes. My father taught me when I was a child. We used to swim in the pond at home.” They’d splashed around in the water on hot summer days. “Though it is a while since I’ve done so. It’s not really suitable for a lady.”
Turning off the main path, the side path went along the serpentine. Markshall drew up the phaeton. “Swim?” he suggested.
The water was muddy, full of leaves and entirely uninviting and she laughed. “No, thank you, my lord.” She turned her head towards him. The word lord died in her throat as she found that he’d turned toward her and leaned in. His mouth was mere inches away from hers, and he was looking at her as though he wanted to devour her.
“Just because you can swim, doesn’t mean you believe you ought to under all circumstances. Even if you might want to, it isn’t always permissible.” His gaze flicked down to her lips then back to her eyes. “They don’t teach you that in rake school, but I learned it all the same.”
“Oh,” she breathed. He was so near, his warm breath mingling with hers. Her lips felt dry and she licked them.
He reached out with his gloved fingertips and touched just under her ear, trailing his finger across her jawline. “Tell me to stop, Emily,” he said huskily. “And I will. But if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you because I can’t stop thinking about the feel of your lips. I can’t help wondering what your face would look like as I pleasured you and what little sounds you would make as you climaxed. I tried to stop this, Emily, but unless you say for me to stop, I don’t know if I can.”
“You want to kiss me?” Her voice came out faint and disbelieving even as the effect of his words ricocheted around her body.
“Yes. To begin with. I want more than that.” He closed the gap between them by an inch. “But for a kiss and every other act, you have to want it too.”
“I do want a kiss.” She leaned closer.
“From me?” There was a hint of disbelief in his tone now.
She couldn’t see his eyes. His face was so close it was a jumble of panes of blurred skin. “Yes,” she whispered.
He closed the final distance between them. His lips were warm and soft for only a second before they were demanding on hers.
Inexorably he pulled her closer to him, his big hands on her waist, so her breasts were pressed to his chest and the sensation fizzed through her. His hand crept up and cupped the underside of her breast and stroked over her nipple. Emily’s eyes floated closed and she pushed herself into his hands. She was lost. Nothing had been like this. It was sweet and hot and all-encompassing.
Hooves. There was the sound of hooves. Through the fog of pleasure, her mind began to work again. Where there were horses, there were people, and they would see her in this compromising position.
She was passionately embracing a man in public, to whom she was not married. Her hard-earned, beautiful reputation would be devastated. Everything she’d worked for, for herself and for Connie and for her whole family.
“Stop.” One engaging conversation and she’d lied to herself that he was misunderstood rather than misanthropic.
He pulled back from kissing her and stilled but continued to hold her tight to him. “You wanted to know if I was capable of seducing you.” His jaw was set in a hard line.
“Markshall. Let me go.”
He didn’t let her go, but he did put her away from him, making them a decorous couple talking in a phaeton. “I told you I was a rake.”
He looked across at her. “Can you drive?”
The obvious answer flowed through her mind. ‘No,’ would be a lie, but well-bred ladies did not drive phaetons. Though what well-bred lady would be engaged to Lord Markshall? She settled for the truth. “Yes, but I’ve never driven a high perch.”
“First time for everything.” He offered the reins and whip, his expression daring her.
She accepted the leather reins and focused on arranging them in her left hand, one above and one below. He was letting her drive his phaeton. No, encouraging her, trusting her without any prior knowledge of her skill. She hoped the well-matched pair of gray mares would listen to her.
“Walk on,” she called. A rush of relief went through her when the gray’s ears pricked back, and the phaeton moved smoothly forwards. She tilted her palm forwards to direct the horse around to the path.
“I don’t know the way home.” She glanced at him without moving her head, still focused on the horses. “You’ll need to direct me.”
He chuckled. “I doubt I could direct you even if I wanted to.”
“You’re hilarious.” That wasn’t true at all. She had a bounce in her stomach that said he could dare her to do anything and she’d want to obey. She looked ahead and took a steadying breath.
“I don’t know London all that well. I drive and ride in the country.” Though since she’d started fern collecting, she tried to resist the temptation to ride, preferring to go by carriage even when they were in the country. Riding was too loose, too free. It implied loose morals when she intended the dignity of Queen Victoria. “Here I go everywhere by carriage, with a groom and a driver, like a civilized person.”
“Civilized.” He repeated the word as if it were unknown to him.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Now, which way? I think that’s quite enough for one outing.”
* * *
Oscar’s study was usually a place of cynical laughter and fast reading. But after the morning’s drive, he couldn’t find the right frame of mind. He’d received an assurance from
Sir Thomas about keeping him informed on Annie’s progress, but no actual details. It hadn’t given him any peace.
This evening was the debate and vote about the Chimney Sweeps Bill and he was confident enough to ignore that. A note from Lord Selby earlier had said he needed Markshall to snap into thinking about the next bill. But he struggled to keep his mind on the task in hand and away from his beautiful betrothed. And their kiss. A searing, delicious kiss that had been meant to prove a point to her. But instead, it had proven how deeply he was in trouble.
He and Jones had been working since after lunchtime and it was now late into the night. He ought to have given up hours ago. Sheer bloody-mindedness and frustration at his having wasted half the day thinking about Emily’s pink lips and shocked pant after he’d kissed her rather than concentrating kept him attempting to work. His head was too full of straightforwardly winsome Emily to acknowledge the complexity of the documents he was trying to make sense of.
“This is bloody impossible.” Markshall tossed down the sheath of papers he’d been reading. “There’s nothing in here to ridicule. It’s just dry and stupid.” He and Jones were going through The Contagious Diseases Repeal Bill documents and each bit was duller and more morally bankrupt than the last.
“There is always something ridiculous.” Jones frowned and scratched his pen on the paper he was taking notes on.
“You find it then.” Markshall stood abruptly and the legs of his chair screeched on the floor. He wished he was back out in the park with Emily. He’d felt absurd pride watching her control the twitchy high perch effortlessly.
“You’re distracted.” Jones leaned back in his chair.
Markshall felt his shoulders tense. “I’m not.”
“You’re childishly stroppy because you want Lady Emily to think well of you, but you can’t allow that.” He stretched his arm to continue to move his pen over the paper.
“Thank you for that insight.” Markshall knew Jones would understand his sarcasm. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
