Rory hit the ground and tore off with a roar towards Silky, who strolled casually in the opposite direction.
‘Heaven help me, that boy has energy in spades,’ said Sarah with exasperation, before racing off after him.
‘Rory,’ Lottie called. ‘You must be calm if you want syllabub later.’
The pounding of his feet came to an abrupt halt.
‘Thank you,’ Sarah panted from the other room.
Lottie and Evander looked at one another and laughed. ‘Thank goodness for the promise of sweets,’ Evander said.
‘And for wonderful little boys who bring so much happiness.’ Lottie tilted her head grudgingly. ‘As well as a bit more noise.’
‘A bit?’ Evander arched a brow. ‘I think we need to try harder.’
Lottie put her hands on her hips in feigned anger. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Or what?’ Evander pulled her into his arms.
His embrace was comfortable and familiar in all the best ways.
‘Or I’ll have to kiss you so much you won’t be able to make a peep,’ she threatened playfully.
‘There are worse threats in this world, my love.’
He leaned forward and captured her lips.
Even after all these years she loved his kisses, craving them with the same intensity as when they first wed. She leaned into him and deepened their kiss with a little flick of her tongue. He drew her more tightly to him and Lottie’s blood went hot in her veins.
Someone cleared their throat and they leapt apart like guilty children. Andrews stood primly by, with his hands folded behind his back. ‘Forgive the interruption, my lady, but it appears your first guests are arriving.’
Lottie and Evander shared a sheepish look at having been caught, and dutifully moved towards the door.
‘Yes, I see,’ Evander said. ‘Thank you, Andrews.’
Andrews gave austere nod as the gravel outside crunched under the wheels of a stopping carriage. A cacophony of voices came from outside—the occasional agreement of a man’s voice and the incessant chatter of a small feminine one.
‘Presumably Lord and Lady Dalton,’ Andrews said dryly.
It was an accurate guess as Violet’s daughter, Juliette, was notorious for speaking almost without stopping. Lottie hid a smile behind her hand and the corner of Andrews’ lip flicked upwards before swiftly disappearing.
‘Go on and open the door,’ Lottie said. ‘We don’t need pomp and formality when it comes to friends.’
The quirk of Andrews’ eyebrow indicated he did not agree, but he obeyed regardless.
No sooner had the door opened than Violet and Seth were there, with little Juliette, stepping into the house along with their son, James, cradled asleep in Seth’s arms.
‘The thing about violets is that they are such lovely flowers,’ Juliette said. ‘More than peonies, yes?’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘Violets are perfect for pressing.’
‘Yes, I have always been partial to violets.’ Seth winked at his wife.
Juliette beamed up at Lottie and Evander. ‘Lord and Lady Westix, thank you so much for having us.’ She scanned the hall. ‘Is Rory here?’
‘I’m certain you can find him,’ Lottie said.
‘Rory,’ Juliette called out.
Her nursemaid gasped. ‘Juliette, a young lady shouldn’t—’
But Juliette was already running past them all into the next room.
Violet sighed with a smile and shook her head.
Lottie embraced her with a laugh. ‘I assure you, it’s nothing Rory isn’t already doing. They’re just excited.’
‘I know.’ Violet smiled. ‘Thank you so much for inviting us. Binsey is such a lovely village. We drove through it on our way to the manor. I can see why you two enjoy your stays here so much.’
James shifted against Seth’s shoulder and lifted his head. His dark hair was mussed, with the left side jutting upright, and he slowly blinked his dark blue eyes open.
‘Are you still tired?’ Seth asked softly.
The boy nodded.
‘Do you want to rest?’
James lowered his head to Seth’s shoulder once more in response.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Seth chuckled.
‘Come, I’ll show you to the nursery, where we can speak of masculine pastimes like teething and tantrums.’ Evander waved for Seth to follow him.
Outside, another carriage arrived.
Within minutes Eleanor and Charles were striding through the door, confident and smiling, their skin tanned golden from their latest adventure. Their son, Simon, walked in front of them, leading them into the house with his nursemaid hovering nearby.
Perhaps it was the fact that their little Simon travelled with them around the world, but the boy was incredibly independent, always insistent on doing things himself.
Lottie and Violet embraced Eleanor and Charles.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Lottie said. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’
‘Thank you for having us, little sister.’ Charles grinned at her, his teeth bright white against his tanned skin. ‘It’s been an age since I’ve visited Huntly.’
‘Where’s Rory?’ Simon said.
‘Juliette is here as well,’ Violet said, and Simon’s eyes lit up.
‘You can go and find them, but mind yourself,’ Eleanor said.
The little boy nodded and darted off to find the other two. A feat easily accomplished, based on the chatter and giggles coming from one of the back rooms.
‘Should we be worried about them?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Most likely,’ Lottie replied, and they all laughed. ‘Especially once Alice and George and Caroline and Rawley arrive with their little ones,’ she added.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased they’ll be joining us,’ Violet said.
‘Yes, but not until this evening,’ Lottie replied. ‘Evander’s mother will arrive tomorrow as well.’
Evander and Seth appeared on the stairs and Charles regarded them with a wave. ‘I suppose this means I won’t be left alone with the ladies after all.’
‘Pity for you,’ Eleanor teased him with a smile, which earned her a playful wink in return.
While the children played, the newly arrived couples found their rooms and freshened up after their travels, leaving Lottie and Evander alone for a brief moment.
He drew her into his arms once more. ‘Thank you for co-ordinating this. I believe it will be the most successful house party of all time.’
She smiled up at her handsome husband. ‘I’m so happy to finally have everyone at Huntly Manor at the same time.’
‘I know how much you love it here.’ Evander ran a hand down her cheek and she turned into his touch.
‘At one time it was simply coming here that made me happy, but now it’s more than that.’
‘Is it?’
He lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. Chills of pleasure danced over her skin.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ she agreed. ‘It’s you. And Rory. And the way you two make me laugh.’
Evander leaned back and grinned at her. ‘I’ll remind you of that when we next engage in a game of tag.’
‘Not in the drawing room again,’ she admonished with a tease.
‘No, not again.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘And maybe next time you’ll join us.’
‘I confess it did look terribly fun.’
‘The best.’ Evander kissed her. ‘I love you so very much, Lottie.’
‘And I love you, Evander.’ She cradled his face in her hands. ‘Thank you for this life and for such happiness. Thank you for never giving up on me.’
‘My love, waiting for you was worth every moment. I’m just glad I was finally able to convince you to marry me.’
Lottie melted into
his embrace. ‘As am I.’
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to read
the first two books in Madeline Martin’s
The London School For Ladies miniseries
How to Tempt a Duke
How to Start a Scandal
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Cinderella for the Viscount by Liz Tyner.
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A Cinderella for the Viscount
by Liz Tyner
Chapter One
The night was a success, in spite of his beloved aunt’s pianoforte song, which she’d composed just for the occasion. The supposedly short piece had been the opening music and had lasted just shy of one hour—or that was how long it had felt to Devlin.
Now the guests gathered for the La Boulanger. His mother always ended her events with a dance easier for tired feet.
Devlin stood at the edge of the room, knowing the wide circle of dancers would likely take up most of the area. He noticed Miss Albright standing at the other side. One woman he’d not partnered. She seemed content to stand behind everyone. Almost hiding near the curtains by the window.
Their eyes met as he caught her stifling a yawn and her cheeks coloured. He acknowledged her with a nod to say he understood and took no offence, before he glanced around the room so she would not feel singled out.
He should have spoken with her during the soirée, but he’d just not seen her earlier—which seemed impossible. Perhaps she’d arrived late. Or maybe she’d spent the evening wandering in the gardens.
Now she touched her necklace, pulled it to the side, then returned it to the position where it had originally rested at the top of an extremely demure bodice. She stared off into the distance, absently rubbing a ring, a bauble that overwhelmed her finger. Not what he would have chosen for her. Not what she would have selected for herself, he wagered.
He imagined she was thinking of a man now and whoever the man was—he wasn’t in attendance. Possibly the one who’d given her the jewel.
Priscilla Tremaine twirled by Devlin, covering him in a cloud of perfume and interrupting his perusal of Miss Albright. Priscilla danced with her beau, Baron Bomford. The Baron took her hand as he stumbled, chuckled loudly and then almost tripped over his own boots. Priscilla laughed, her bosom quivering. Her partner paid more attention to Priscilla’s chest than he did his feet.
Devlin put his glass on the table, his attention riveted on the couple as they finished their rotation around the room.
The dance needed to end sooner rather than later. Priscilla and the Baron were likely to embarrass themselves. Bomford was hearing a different song from the one the musicians played.
Then Bomford turned in the wrong direction and Priscilla reached out to correct him, shoving him into the steps. The Baron jumped a few feet to catch his balance, but stumbled, his arm splayed towards Miss Albright.
Miss Albright caught his sleeve, trying to keep him upright, but he took another step, reached with his free arm and grabbed a side table, pulling a scarf which covered the tabletop.
A lamp on the table wobbled, its flame flickering. Devlin couldn’t hear the music or comprehend anything else in the room but the flame inside the glass globe, the oil and the dislodged fabric under the base.
Then the table stopped moving. Devlin’s shoulders relaxed. The lamp rested completely immobile. Safe. The oil inside burning softly.
Everyone in the room watched Priscilla and her partner, including the musicians. The room echoed with silence.
The Baron noticed everyone had ceased talking. ‘My apologishes.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his brow, then took a reverse step, bumped into the table, reached out his arm and this time knocked the lamp askew. It rolled off the table and Miss Albright’s skirts fluttered as she stepped aside.
Devlin saw all the flammable fabrics. The scarf from the table. The curtains. Miss Albright’s skirt. The lit wick. All too close to Miss Albright.
He darted forward as the globe shattered, its glass collapsing into shards. The bowl of the lamp cracked, oil leaking into a puddle. Flames flickered at the wick, which would be easily extinguished with a stamp of his boot. Not yet igniting the oil.
Then Bomford turned, grabbing a glass from Lord Wilberton’s hand. ‘No,’ Devlin shouted, lunging as he spoke. But it was too late. The Baron flung the alcohol in the glass on to the flames, splashing wide of the curtain, across the oil and over the wick, and sending the now-burning oil on to Miss Albright.
Devlin was already across the room when the liquid splattered across the flame and reached Miss Albright’s skirt, igniting the flicker into a flash.
He knew what was about to happen before the flame began to take the light silk that covered her body. In two strides he had ripped the curtain from the rod, tackled Miss Albright and threw himself forward. He thrust the heavy fabric around Miss Albright to extinguish the fire. He wound the material tightly, forcing her into the wall, suffocating the flames, and slid her down to the floor. One of her arms splayed out. The other wrapped around his neck and her fingers grasped a handful of his hair. He pressed the curtain even closer, using his body as a shield, ignoring the other guests, only minimally aware of the people behind him.
He found himself in an awkward position in a hushed room, one knee on the floor, his hands holding curtains firm around Miss Albright’s skirts as she kept one hand clasped on his hair and her other hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall. The smell of burnt silk hit his nostrils and the side of his face pressed into an amazingly soft bit of femininity with a heartbeat close to his ear. He took in a breath and let the scent of her skin replace the singed cloth.
For an instant, he was frozen. He held too much in his arms, and emotion overtook him. He could feel life in his hands and the seconds before could have changed so much.
‘Did you put her out?’ His mother’s voice rang in his other ear. He preferred listening to the racing heart, but he pulled away, Miss Albright still clutching his hair. Their gazes locked, a second that lingered, then she released him.
‘The fire’s gone.’ He again tucked the curtain firmly around her, took her hand and put it on the fabric to hold it in place, then helped her stand. He made sure the burned spots displaying an appealing bit of beribboned chemise were covered.
‘Oh, my. My dear.’ His mother brushed past Devlin and took charge of the accident. ‘Are you hurt, Miss Albright?’
Devlin’s eyes connected with Miss Albright’s still-dazed ones.
‘I’m fine. But I don’t know...’ she whispered, wincing. She touched the curtain, slim fingers trying to arrange the cloth into a skirt.
No one seemed to know what to do next.
His body took over again and he sidestepped around his mother and slipped an arm under Miss Albright’s knees and slid his other at her back. He watched her eyes, making sure the pain on her face didn’t increase, and lifted her with all the gentleness he could muster. She gasped and now her arm rested loosely around his shoulder. He heard a second gasp which might have been his mother’s, or her mother’s. ‘I’ll take her to the sofa in the library so you ladies can care for her and I’ll have the physician summoned.’
His face rested against her tresses and the strands brushed his cheek. The smell of freshly laundered clothing overrode the scorched scent and she wore a soft flowery perfume.
‘Are you injured?’ He spoke no louder than a whisper as he wove through the stunned observers.
‘Yes. I think...not much.’ The now husky timbre of her voice reassured a pleasant spot in him.
He put the guests behind him and shortened his stride as he
reached the library. ‘If you have need of anything...’ his lips touched her hair ‘...be sure to let me know. It will be taken care of.’
He tensed his body so he could lower her on to the sofa without jostling her more than necessary.
Two ball gowns fluttered around him and he knew the mothers were on either side.
‘I’ll reassure the guests.’ He kept his eyes on the sofa while he straightened his cravat.
Miss Albright looked at him as her mother stepped up to her and his mother pushed at his chest to nudge him further from the room. He felt a second determined prod.
He left, his steps swift to return to the guests with a reassuring expression on his lips. But he could still feel her in his arms.
* * *
Devlin opened his eyes in the darkness and twisted his head on his pillow. He pressed at the support behind his head. Sleep was impossible.
Before she’d retired, his mother had whispered, averting her eyes, that their guest had a few small burns on her...leg.
So, they were to be having visitors for the next two days while his mother reassured herself that Miss Albright recovered nicely. It simply would not do for the girl to be jostled in a carriage.
He slung the covers from his body. Stood. Pulled on the trousers he’d tossed over a chair and the shirt he’d worn earlier, ignoring the waistcoat.
He needed a cigar and a splash of brandy. Or maybe more than a splash. He kept thinking about Miss Albright.
The rug cushioned his bare feet and he glanced down the deserted, meandering hall, feeling alone in the house.
Devlin navigated the hallways easily in the dark, running a fingertip along the wall for direction as he found the library.
The door stood open and he saw the flickering light. His heartbeats increased as he imagined Miss Albright sitting inside. He needed to reassure himself she was fine.
Disappointment plunged into him when he stepped into the room. Instead of Miss Albright, his cousin, Payton, sat on the sofa, reading a book, brandy in one hand and a swirl of smoke at his head.
How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance Page 25
