Henry's Bride (London Libertines Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  “Jeanette, my love, I have every intention of giving you pleasure, not misery.”

  *

  Sanderson stood beside the carriage, seemingly oblivious of the rain which trickled off his hair. Henry placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back. Her gown was soaked, her skin cold beneath the white muslin. Her body stiffened at his touch and she climbed in. He ushered Edward in after her, then climbed in. He reached under the seat for a rug and placed it over her knees.

  The carriage left the park and turned into the London streets. Earlier that afternoon, when Henry had driven past on the way to the park, bright colors had adorned the pavement. But now the rain triumphed, rendering the streets gray and driving the people inside save for the occasional running figure caught in the downpour.

  “Look at them,” Jeanette said, “all running in fear of a little water. Society may believe it controls the lives of others, but it’ll never conquer Mother Nature.” A smile spread across her lips. “Good for her.” She sighed, her breath forming a cloud of mist on the window, and she traced her initial on the glass.

  Edward nudged Henry.

  “Papa, why don’t you do what we agreed?”

  “Not yet, young sir.”

  His son’s face creased into a frown. “But you promised, and Mama told me that a gentleman always honors his promises.”

  The boy had plagued him ever since Jeanette had left. He missed and loved her almost as much as Henry himself.

  “Your mama is right, as always,” Henry said, “but I regret to say, I’ve not always behaved like a gentleman.”

  “Then do it now,” the boy urged.

  Henry knelt at Jeanette’s feet and took her hand. Her fingers trembled, and he held them to his lips and looked up at her. Doubt clouded her expression. But what had he done to merit her trust?

  “Be my wife, Jeanette,” he whispered.

  She tried to break free, and he tightened his grip.

  “No!” he said. “Be still!”

  She froze at his command. Her breath quickened. Whether she liked it or not, her body wanted him. But now was not the time to take advantage of their mutual desire for each other.

  He placed his hand against her cheek and spoke more softly. “When I first offered for you, Jeanette, it was out of compassion, even pity. I immediately regretted it, thinking you’d trapped me. So, let me ask you again, now, out of desire.”

  The doubt in her eyes morphed into anger. She pulled her hand free and rapped on the window.

  “Stop! Sanderson, let me out!”

  The carriage continued. She cried out again, and he gripped her arm, guilt stabbing his conscience at the way she flinched.

  “Sanderson obeys me, Jeanette,” he said. “Why don’t you honor your vows and do the same?”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “Honor my vows? Like you did? Henry, stop the carriage and let me go. I won’t contest a divorce, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Just promise me you’ll make sure your next wife treats Edward properly.”

  “Dear God, Jeanette, why so stubborn? Why don’t you stop this nonsense and come home? You know it’s the right thing to do. For me, for you.” He gestured toward Edward. “Especially for him.”

  “Mama…”

  At the boy’s plea, her body seemed to deflate, the fight leaving her. She slumped back in her seat and gestured around the carriage.

  “I never wanted this,” she said, “and you certainly made it clear I didn’t deserve it. I can’t imagine anything more miserable than being married to you.”

  “Jeanette, don’t be such a fool.” He grasped her hand but she snatched it away.

  “No!” she cried. “You should have let them sell me into slavery. It couldn’t be worse than a life with you!”

  He flinched at her words and drew back. Is this what he’d driven her to? In his attempts to protect her by keeping her at a distance, had he earned her hatred?

  “I must commend you for your honesty, madam.”

  She turned her head away. “I was nothing to you. I had some use in the country where your tenants valued me for myself and not for my rank.” She sighed, lowering her voice to a whisper and closed her eyes. “It was the only consolation I had for being married to a man who despised me. I’d resolved never to fall in love with you, but I did nonetheless.”

  He took her wrist, and she drew a sharp breath.

  “Look at me.”

  “Please,” she said, “let me go.”

  “Not until you look at me and repeat what you just said.”

  He tightened his grip. “Now, Jeanette. I won’t release you until you do.”

  She lifted her gaze. “I said my consolation was at Ravenwell Hall…”

  He curled his free hand round the back of her neck and pulled her close until their eyes drew level.

  “Papa!”

  “Not now, Edward,” he said through gritted teeth. “Jeanette, repeat what you said at the end.”

  She held her gaze. “I said I resolved never to fall in love with you.”

  “But you did anyway.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. He lifted his hand and brushed aside the tear on her cheek. With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of her face.

  “Then stay, Jeanette. For me.”

  He moved closer until their mouths met.

  “No, I can’t!” She pulled away.

  “But you said…”

  “What about what you’ve said, Henry?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I heard you at the brothel. You told Betty you married in haste. I’m merely ensuring you don’t repent at leisure, Your Grace.”

  Dear God, had she heard what he’d said to Betty?

  “Oh, Jeanette, I’m sorry you overhead.” He took her hand. “I spent the greater part of our marriage trying to convince myself I didn’t love you. When I realized my investigations into the abductions might place you at risk, I had to put you at a distance. I had to convince the world I cared nothing for you. If they knew how much I loved you, your life would have been in too much danger. Christ, woman, why do you think I did everything I could to remove you from London?”

  “But you treated me…”

  “Abominably, I know. I wanted you to think I despised you. It was the only way to keep you in the country. Safe.” He shook his head. “Sanderson chided me so many times about it. Even Rosaline has admonished me over it. She’s getting bolder every day.”

  Jeanette’s eyes darkened. “Rosaline. Is that the woman you spent the night with at Betty’s?”

  “Nothing happened,” he said. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch another woman once I’d had a taste of you, Jeanette.”

  “Then what’s she doing still with you?”

  “I’ve given her a position, as upper housemaid at my Mayfair house.”

  “Isn’t she a little young, inexperienced?”

  He smiled. “That’s what I told Sanderson, but he wouldn’t relent until I agreed. The poor man’s almost as smitten with her as I am with you.”

  Jeanette bit her lip and looked out of the window. “It broke my heart when you threw me out.”

  He stroked her thumb. “Forgive me, my love, but I’d rather see your heart than your neck broken. I’ve seen so many bodies, Jeanette. I’d never forgive myself if anything had happened to you. I did what I thought was best to protect you, by convincing you I didn’t love you.”

  Salty moisture stung his eyes, but he made no attempt to wipe it away.

  “I’m a fool for hurting you, Jeanette. So many women from my wilder days have died—Edward’s mother, Lydia, Betty, and I could do nothing to save them. But you, the woman I love, I would do anything in my power to keep you from harm. Even confront your mother.”

  “Mama?”

  “My severest critic where you’re concerned. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Your father’s a man to be admired, but recently I’ve realized your mother is equally admirable. When I saw your father last mont
h, we were both quaking in fear lest she come upon us and turn me out of the house. She loves you dearly, almost as much as I.”

  “Don’t say it, Henry, not unless you mean it.”

  “I won’t just say it. I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.”

  “What did you see Papa for?”

  The carriage drew to a halt, saving him the necessity of answering. The carriage door opened and Sanderson appeared.

  “We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”

  He climbed out of the carriage and ushered his wife and son toward the townhouse. The rain was falling more heavily now, fat droplets splashing on the steps.

  The door opened and Jenkins appeared at the threshold.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace.” The butler looked at Jeanette expectantly, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “His Grace has been most anxious for your return. It’s a pleasure to see you home again.”

  Henry curled an arm around Jeanette’s waist. “Speaking of pleasure, Jenkins, it’s time I indulged in a little myself. Sanderson, take Master Edward to the kitchen and get him something to eat.”

  Jenkins colored, and Sanderson led Edward across the hallway.

  “Papa…” Edward protested.

  “Go with Sanderson, young sir. Cook will have some sweet tarts waiting for you to celebrate a successful expedition. I want to enjoy your Mama, and I cannot wait any longer.” He winked at the servant. “I’m sure Sanderson wishes to be reunited with Rosaline. They’ve been apart for at least two hours.”

  “Henry!” Jeanette slapped his arm, and he winced. No wonder her right hook had bloodied that lecher De Blanchard’s nose so effectively.

  He traced a light fingertip along her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Henry…”

  “Yes,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I like hearing my name on your lips, Jeanette. I want to hear you scream it when I’m buried inside you.”

  “Henry!”

  He moved his hips against her, and her breath quickened.

  “Yes. Just like that.”

  “Is this how you intend to behave now you’re a duke?”

  His teeth grazed the back of her neck. “Aye,” he whispered, “I intend to behave scandalously with you. Here in the hall, and in every room in the house.”

  He nipped her skin, affirming his ownership.

  “Jenkins,” he said. “Her Grace and I will be taking tea in the drawing room later.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. When would you like tea?”

  “Give us an hour,” Henry said, lifting his wife into his arms. “No, on second thought, make it two.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When Jeanette woke, for a moment she did not recognize her surroundings. She was in an enormous bed made from dark wood and a room furnished in strong, masculine colors.

  Henry had never permitted her into his room before.

  Her body still glowed with the memory of their lovemaking. Yawning, she stretched and sat up. The bed shifted, and her husband’s warm, strong arms wrapped around her.

  “I wondered how long you’d sleep.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “I’m afraid our tea will have grown cold.”

  “What will Jenkins think of us, Henry, indulging in such scandalous pleasures in broad daylight?”

  “His opinion of you will be as high as it always has been, my love. As for me, he’ll think as I do—that I’m a damned lucky bastard.”

  Her torn corset lay on the floor. They had fumbled with the laces together to remove it and only succeeded in tightening the knots, at which point he’d cursed and ripped it apart, promising to buy her a new one, before taking her to the heights of pleasure, again and again.

  “Henry…” She closed her eyes, relishing the memory.

  He grazed his teeth against her ear. “If I recall, not one hour ago you were screaming my name.”

  “Henry!”

  His body shook as he let out a low chuckle. “Yes, just like that—only much louder.”

  She turned to admonish him and her indignation died.

  A large scar adorned the left side of his chest, surrounded by the yellowing remains of a bruise. Her heart constricted at the memory of him lying on the table in that dingy house at the docks.

  What pain he must have endured!

  Had he not moved into the path of Charlotte’s bullet, Jeanette might have sustained that injury. Or died.

  She traced an outline of the bruise with her finger. “Does it still pain you?”

  “Only as a reminder that I could have lost you,” he said. “But I wear it with pride and would gladly take a bullet for you again.”

  “Oh Henry, I…”

  He placed a finger on her lips. “Let us speak of it no more, Jeanette. Now is not the time to regret the past. We must look to our future.” He traced a line across her chest, his nostrils flaring as his fingertip moved across her breasts.

  His expression sobered. “It’s time we ended all deception between us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “Since inheriting the dukedom, I felt it prudent to ask Mr. Barnes to send me the ledgers for the Ravenwell estate. He told me you’d seen them.”

  Her stomach tightened at the memory. The large withdrawal, the one Mr. Barnes had told her Henry had requested to establish a mistress.

  “I see from your expression you know what I’m talking about.” He sighed. “The day we met, you demonstrated your mathematical prowess. I should have known you’d be unable to leave the Ravenwell accounts alone.”

  “I’m glad of it,” she said, “otherwise, I’d never have known what you’d done.”

  “I did it for you.”

  “What—wasted your money on another woman?”

  Confusion stretched across his forehead, followed by recognition, and he rolled his eyes.

  “You think I spent it on a mistress?” he asked. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said? I gave it to your father. For his business.”

  “That was you?”

  “It was the least I could do considering I married his finest clerk. Though I hear her replacement—Susan, is it?—is developing a similar degree of business acumen.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “You’ve every reason to think the worst of me after my behavior. Trust can be destroyed in a day, and it takes much longer to rebuild.”

  He placed his palm on her cheek and caressed her skin with his thumb. “What about you, my dear? Were you ever going to confess your deception?”

  What was he accusing her of?

  “My love,” he laughed, “you’ve gone as white as this bedsheet. I refer to the unexpected restoration of the estate’s cashflow and the prosperity of some of the farms thereabouts. Mr. Barnes may be an excellent steward, but he knows as much about farming as Grandmamma’s pug dog. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you; how lucky I feel to have such a woman for a wife.”

  He placed his hand on her belly. “I must work hard to make you equally proud, for your sake and that of our child. And Edward. I’ve been such a poor father to him, while you’ve been a shining example to me.”

  He took her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “Will you teach me to be a better man, Jeanette, so that I might be worthy of you?”

  She brushed her lips against his. “I’ll do my best to teach a duke how to behave properly.”

  He smiled, his eyes radiating love. “I can think of no better teacher than the Holmestead Harlot.”

  “Why do you persist in using that dreadful nickname?”

  He grinned. “It serves as a reminder that in marrying you, I saved myself from being shackled to a woman of breeding. Instead of a soulless match with the single objective of producing an heir, I have found fulfilment in a union with a woman in possession of qualities which are the very antithesis of society’s ideals—wit, intelligence, kindness, and a passion for love and life.”

  He claimed her mouth in a kiss, then lay back, pulling her with him
.

  “Henry—we must get dressed for dinner,” she said. “Jenkins…”

  “Will, if he has any sense, be instructing the rest of the household not to disturb us until morning,” he said. “The one thing I have dreamed of, save making love to my wife, is holding her in my arms while she sleeps. Would you deny me that pleasure?”

  Smiling, she relaxed in his arms and drifted into a contented sleep, recognizing, at last, her good fortune in having secured the attention of a man of the ton.

  The End

  Please enjoy a bonus excerpt of “Hawthorne’s Wife”

  Chapter One

  At fourteen, Frederica Stanford knew she would love Hawthorne Stiles until the day she died—even if he never knew she existed.

  Most young men she encountered smelled of dirt and dung. The sour odor even clung to gentlemen such as Hawthorne’s friends.

  But Hawthorne was different. She could always recognize the timbre of his horse’s hooves—the rhythm of a practiced horseman. The air would shift as if to herald the arrival of a perfect specimen, tightening her skin with a thrill almost like what she experienced when diving from the trees overhanging Radley Lake. That brief moment of weightlessness was the nearest she would come to flying, except in dreams.

  Her dreams always began and ended with him, clear brown eyes deepening in color as he reached out to touch her… But she always woke up at the moment before their fingers met, her body tingling with the promise of a paradise she had yet to understand.

  But it was just a dream. While her body tightened with longing and childish love, he’d ride past her, not even altering the path of his mount.

  She used to play with Hawthorne’s friends at the lake, poking at the water, looking for frogspawn. Sons of earls and viscounts, they had at first tolerated her, the merchant’s daughter who tagged behind them. But their first term at Eton had opened their eyes to the class divide. Now, they teased her from their elevated positions atop their mounts while Hawthorne sat astride his own horse, casually looking across the landscape as if she—and they—were of too little consequence to merit his attention.

  In her whole life, he’d spoken to her only once, just four words. But if those precious words were all he’d give her, she would make a treasure of them.