by Royal, Emily
What would it be like to teach that hellcat about pleasure? Though he had a long way to go to convince his potential business partners that whisky was worth investing in, a greater challenge now tempted him.
To have Miss Hart beg to warm his bed.
As his Da had always said…
We MacGregors relish a challenge.
Oh, aye. He’d relish it very much.
Chapter Four
“Sit up, Delilah, dear. You want to make a good impression on Sir Thomas.”
Lilah shifted in her seat, while Dorothea poured the tea.
Dexter remained still, his dark gaze focused on Lilah, disapproval in his eyes.
Having never known their parents who’d died shortly after she was born, Lilah viewed Dexter as a combination of father, brother, and, more recently, jailer. As head of the family, he expected obedience from the rest of his siblings. Dorothea considered herself the family matriarch, by virtue of her age. But in reality, Thea was a doormat, who deferred to Dexter on every occasion.
Even now, while undertaking a task as simple as pouring tea, Lilah’s sister looked to their brother for approval.
Lilah rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle Tommie Tiptoes.”
“Delilah!” Thea protested.
Dexter’s expression hardened. “You’ll show Sir Thomas the respect he’s due.”
When angry, Dexter lowered his voice rather than raised it. His detachment and control unnerved Lilah more than if he’d possessed a temper as hot as hers. A temper, driven by emotion, could be fought on equal terms. But to experience emotion, one must be in possession of a soul—something Dexter was sorely lacking.
“Sir Thomas is pleasant enough,” Lilah said. “I’d go so far as to say he’s the pleasantest specimen of our acquaintance in London. But, as you’ve said yourself, Dex, he’s a man of middling rank, middling fortune, and middling character. Surely you’d aspire to something greater in your quest to sell me off to the nobility?”
“I had higher hopes for you,” Dexter said, “but given that business with Lord Granville, you should count your blessings that Sir Thomas is willing to call on you.”
“Is it my fault that I caught Granville with his breeches round his ankles, rutting some whore?”
Thea set her cup down with a clatter. “Delilah! Mind your language.”
“Granville’s morals may not be your responsibility,” Dexter said, “but in wandering off on your own during that party to find him, you tarnished your reputation,” he said. “Given that you both returned looking disheveled, it’s no wonder the world believes you’d allowed him to anticipate the wedding night in a bid to snare his hand.”
“As if I’d be so foolish,” Lilah snorted. “He looked a mess because I’d slapped his face!”
“In London society, appearance is everything,” Dexter said. “Truth is irrelevant.”
“Then we should tear society down,” Lilah said.
Dexter sighed and shook his head.
“Your brother wants what’s best for you—for all of us,” Thea said. “If you understood that, you wouldn’t fight him at every turn. You know how hard it is for us to gain acceptance in society.”
“Why should we ingratiate ourselves?” Lilah asked. “They hate us, and they always will, for we have no titles.”
“Not at present,” Thea said. “But your brother has been recommended for a knighthood. He’s worked hard to better our fortunes, and the next step is to raise our position in society. He does it for us, Lilah. All you have to do is smile and be courteous. That’s not much to ask, is it?”
“It’s more than that,” Lilah said. “You want me to relinquish my freedom. Neither of you understands my feelings. You think my dream of becoming a writer is a whim to be cast aside when a man decides he wants to own me.”
“I do understand,” Dexter said. “But in order to get what we want, we must first take responsibility and demonstrate that we deserve it. It’s called growing up.”
“Demonstrate to who, Dexter?” Lilah asked. “To you? Must I gratify you before I’m permitted to be happy? Is that why you drove Devon out of the house?”
“Our brother is a grown man,” Dexter said. “He’s free to make his own choices.”
“Because he’s a man?”
“Society doesn’t frown upon a grown man lodging on his own.”
“And you were glad to see him go,” Lilah said. “A disfigured brother might risk your social standing.”
Dexter’s lips thinned, and his knuckles whitened as he curled his fingers round his teacup. Thea frowned at Lilah and shook her head in warning.
“Our brother is welcome here,” he said. “He’s a part of our family.”
“Then what about Daisy?” Lilah asked.
The teacup shattered, and brown liquid splashed over Dexter’s breeches. Thea leapt to her feet and let out a shriek.
“Jane! Jane! Come quickly, there’s been an accident! The master’s spilled his tea!”
Dexter lowered his gaze to his soaking breeches. Liquid dripped off his lap, but he barely reacted.
Did nothing rattle him?
A maid rushed into the parlor, brandishing a cloth.
“Jane, help the master,” Thea said.
Dexter raised his hand. “No, I’ll deal with it.” He fixed his gaze on Lilah. “And then, I’ll deal with you.”
He rose and exited the room.
“Jane, dear, could you clear up the mess, then bring in a fresh pot of tea?” Thea asked. “And some of Mrs. Brown’s fruitcake, I think.
The maid bobbed a curtsey and set about picking up the shards of porcelain. After she left, Thea took Lilah’s hand.
“You shouldn’t vex your brother, so,” she said. “You know he doesn’t like to speak of Daisy.”
“Why not?” Lilah asked. “Dex bores me to tears with lectures on how we must remain united as a family. Why, then, are there five of us, but one has been exiled into obscurity, and the other cannot bear to live here?”
“It’s not that simple,” Thea said. “Dexter may be harsh, but he has his reasons. While you played with dolls, he devoted his life to raising our fortunes. He blames himself for what happened to Daisy. But it’s done, and there’s no sense in dwelling on it. Not when Dexter’s worked so hard to secure our future. He’s not being unreasonable in expecting you to play your part.”
“You even sound like him, Thea,” Lilah said. “Can you not think for yourself?”
“I speak the truth,” Thea replied.
“Then why don’t you subject yourself to a Season?”
“I’m twenty-seven,” Thea said. “I can best serve our cause by chaperoning you. You’re the one with the best chance of securing a good match.”
“And you consider Sir Thomas a good match?”
“He’s very handsome,” Thea said. “Imagine what it would be like to be on his arm at a ball!” She hesitated and lowered her gaze. For a moment, Lilah thought she saw disappointment in her sister’s eyes—disappointment that the elevation of their fortunes had come too late for her to hope for anything other than a position as a chaperone—or a spinster aunt.
Then she looked up again and smiled. “He possesses a rare combination—a title, affability, and an interest in commerce. And he seems to like you a great deal, Delilah.”
“We share the same views on society, that’s all,” Lilah said. “But despite what he says about reforming the aristocracy, he lacks the character to lead. He hangs on to Dex’s coat-tails even more than you.”
Thea rolled her eyes. “Why must you needle everyone you disagree with, Delilah? We cannot all be leaders. If Sir Thomas chooses to follow where others direct, then he’d make the perfect husband for a headstrong woman who wishes to control her destiny.”
Lilah shook her head. “You mean…”
“I mean,” Dorothea said, lowering her voice, “that if you want to pursue a career as a writer, while also satisfying our brother, then marr
iage to Sir Thomas may be the most effective means of achieving that. While you still have choices left open to you, Delilah, you must choose wisely. And that choice may be to accept his courtship.”
“Assuming Sir Thomas would want to court a commoner.”
“He’s one of the few men of society to whom birth is not everything,” Thea said. “But if you wish to secure him, you should refrain from cursing, at least until after you’ve signed the marriage register when the poor man has gone beyond the point of no return.”
“I have no intention of securing anyone,” Lilah said. “A man should want me for what I am, not what he wishes me to be.”
Dorothea laughed. “In that, I agree with you. You’ll need a husband prepared to put up with your rudeness.”
No, she didn’t. She needed a man with spirit, who could meet her on equal terms. A man to spar with, a man who set boundaries, then challenged her to breach them, with the lure of danger in his eyes if she dared to defy him.
A man such as him—the infuriating Scot who’d sent a thrill through her bones as he threatened to take her over his knee.
She closed her eyes to relive the memory of their first encounter—the faint aroma of earth and mountain air, clear blue eyes before which her innermost desires were laid bare. Her breath hitched at the memory of his hands on her skin—warm, commanding hands.
“Delilah?”
Lilah opened her eyes.
“I do believe you’re blushing!” Thea said. “Perhaps the prospect of Sir Thomas’s company is not so distasteful after all?”
Before Lilah could respond, the door swung open. Dexter stood in the doorway with Sir Thomas Tipton.
With thick blonde hair fashionably cut, perfectly proportioned features, and pale blue eyes, Sir Thomas looked every bit the fairytale hero. He lifted his lips into a smile, and Thea rose to her feet, her cheeks blooming a delicate shade of rose.
“Sir Thomas, how pleasant!” she cried. “Delilah and I were just saying how we were looking forward to your visit.”
Sir Thomas bowed and snapped his heels together.
“Miss Hart, a pleasure, as always,” he said. “And Miss Delilah.”
“Please, come in,” Thea said. “Dexter, will you be joining us?”
“I don’t think so,” Lilah said. “You’re too busy, aren’t you, Dex? And you’ve already provided your valet with enough work.” She turned to their guest. “Your suit is very elegant, Sir Thomas. The jacket goes very well with your breeches. It’s terribly important to wear the right colored breeches when taking tea.”
“Sir Thomas, if you’ll excuse me,” Dexter said, “I have some business to attend to. But my sisters will take the greatest care of you. Won’t you, Delilah?”
Dexter shot Lilah a warning look, and she gave him her sweetest smile. “Of course, dear brother,” she said. She gestured to the wing-back chair by the fireplace—the chair Dexter was always so very particular about being his. “Do sit down, Sir Thomas, and let me help you to tea.”
Dexter exhaled sharply and took his leave.
“Sugar, Sir Thomas?” Lilah asked.
“Four, please.”
She wrinkled her nose and dropped four lumps into a cup and handed it to him. Their hands touched, and he smiled and brushed his thumb against hers.
But try as she might, Lilah felt nothing from his touch. Not like…
“What news, Sir Thomas?” Thea asked.
“Nothing much,” he said. “Yet another duke has arrived to strut around London and declare himself master of the world.”
“And who might that be?” Thea asked.
“Molineux.”
“Molineux!” Thea exclaimed. “Hadn’t that line died out with the twelfth duke?”
“Apparently not, Miss Hart,” he said. “Though perhaps it would have been better if it had. The present incumbent is not what I’d call a gentleman. He’s a merchant. And a Scot.”
“Don’t you aspire to commerce yourself?” Lilah asked.
“Not at the expense of my estate, and not with illicit goods. Only a few decades ago, his countrymen were savages living in the wilderness. I swear I saw dirt under his fingernails. And he reeked of cheap perfume, most likely from frittering away the hours rolling around with harlots.”
In that respect, Sir Thomas was probably right. No man as potent as him would live like a monk.
Lilah swallowed the stab of jealousy. Her hand shook, and she set her teacup aside.
“Is something the matter, Delilah?” Thea asked.
Lilah flushed and shook her head. “N-no,” she said, avoiding her sister’s gaze. “Sir Thomas, you said he deals in illicit goods?”
“Moonshine, Miss Delilah,” Sir Thomas said.
“Moonshine?”
“Whisky. Disgusting stuff, by all accounts. The kind of liquor only good for etching into metal.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Lilah said. “I’ve never tried it.”
“I’d suggest you confine your tastes to a safer beverage,” Sir Thomas said.
“Such as tea?” Lilah asked.
“Yes, Miss Delilah. A man’s propensity to drink is his biggest failing. It renders him weak and incompetent. One can only imagine what it does to a woman.”
Thea nodded. “I agree.”
“Quite so,” Sir Thomas replied. He glanced at Lilah. “When I marry, I’d want my wife to refrain from indulging in liquor.”
Lilah rose to her feet, and Sir Thomas scrambled to do likewise. She crossed the floor to the bureau and picked up Dexter’s decanter of port, then returned to her seat and poured a little into her teacup.
“Delilah!” Thea said. “You forget your manners.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lilah said. “Would you like some port with your tea, Sir Thomas?”
He frowned, then smoothed his expression into a smile. “No, thank you, Miss Delilah.”
“Do you object to my indulging in a little?”
“No, Miss Delilah,” he said, “but I have no objection to anything you wish to do.”
Yes—Sir Thomas would be the perfect husband to ensure Lilah maintained complete control of her life. Handsome, titled, and biddable.
In short, what most men wanted in a wife.
He’d give her everything she wanted, everything she asked of him.
But would he give her what she needed?
Chapter Five
“You’ll like Dexter Hart, Molineux. Of course, the pertinent question is whether he likes you.”
Fraser turned from the window, which looked out over the Strand, and smiled at his friend. “You certainly have a high opinion of him, Pelham,” he said. “Perhaps that’s because he’s funding your business.”
“You could say I’m funding his,” Pelham said. “Hart’s a stickler over the repayments. And he’s not one to lend money out of kindness.”
“But he’s a fair man, yes?”
“You’ll find none fairer,” Pelham said. “But kindness and fairness are not the same. If anyone’s the living embodiment of that fact, it’s Dexter Hart.”
Pelham opened his pocket watch, then snapped it shut.
“He’ll be with us in exactly two minutes.”
“What do you mean?” Fraser asked.
Pelham smiled. “Hart’s a stickler for punctuality. He extols the virtues of arriving precisely on time. Lateness is to be abhorred, but an early arrival presents an equal lack of civility.”
“An early arrival shows eagerness, which is to be applauded,” Fraser said.
“Not if the other party is unready.” Pelham gave Fraser a wicked smile. “Of course, an unexpected early arrival has its benefits. I once paid a visit to my wife’s bedchamber a full half-hour before she was ready to leave for a soiree hosted by Countess Stiles.”
“And was your eagerness applauded?”
Pelham let out a laugh. “Let me answer by saying that we arrived at the soiree almost two hours late. I believe my eagerness was viewed by my wife with pleasure.”
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“You’re a fortunate man,” Fraser said.
Pelham sighed, his expression akin to lovesickness. “Anne is the epitome of perfection.”
For Pelham, perhaps—her sweet-tempered meekness would suit most men. But Fraser preferred a woman with a little backbone.
A feisty wee terrier to challenge him at every turn, until she yielded after a well-fought battle…
“Of course, Anne’s friend is a charming creature,” Pelham said, mischief in his eyes. “I’m sure Miss Hart would also relish a little—spontaneity—in her intercourse with others.”
Curse him! Even the mention of her excited Fraser.
“I daresay her brother would have something to say about that,” Fraser said. “Unless Hart’s one of those businessmen who exerts his prowess in the boardroom, then returns home and leaves his masculinity at the door to be ruled by the women inside.”
“On the contrary, I assure you,” a deep voice said.
Pelham crossed the floor, hand outstretched to greet the newcomer in the doorway, as a clock struck three. The man shook Pelham’s hand, but his attention was on Fraser.
He was tall, though not as tall as Fraser, and he filled the doorframe with a commanding presence as if he’d long-since established that the world existed to serve him. His hair was cut shorter than fashionable, in a severe style that negated any softness that might be found in his features. Black as night, it seemed to absorb the light. Deep-set, clear blue eyes regarded Fraser with a cold expression. He lowered his gaze, then lifted it slowly, as if sizing Fraser up, inch by inch. Then he lifted a corner of his upper lip as if to convey that he’d scrutinized Fraser and found him wanting.
Hart’s coloring might differ from his sister, but Fraser recognized the same spirit, hidden beneath the man’s cold exterior—and expression around the mouth which, in a man, would be considered resolute and determined, but in a woman, stubborn.
“Hart, old boy,” Pelham said. “May I introduce you to Duke Molineux?”
The newcomer remained still, his eyes narrowing.
“A pleasure, Mr. Hart,” Fraser said.
Hart raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were here to discuss business, not pleasure,” he said. “And I wonder why a man of your rank would find it necessary to be accompanied by another. Or, indeed, why you’d not prefer to bank with Coutts, rather than me.”
