My Three Lords Page 2

  On closer inspection, his green eyes contained chips of golden bronze and had a quite mesmerizing effect. I barely knew how I answered, only that the words seemed to spill from my lips of their own volition. “Yes indeed. I said nothing improper, merely that I hoped I should never meet him. I’m sure he would not mind at all, as there are any number of other young ladies that should be delighted to. I venture to guess all of them, as a matter of fact.”

  He scanned the crowded ballroom and gave a sigh. “I do believe you’re right. And I wonder that you should be the sole exception.”

  “They say he is so diabolically attractive that he sends innocent girls into a swoon. Fainting,” I told him, “has never appealed to me. My brothers swore they would disown me if I ever fainted. And if the Duke truly has the power to make girls lose control of their senses through his sheer beauty, though in truth my natural skepticism finds it unlikely, it seems far wiser and more practical to keep a safe distance.”

  “I take your point. However…” I was never to hear his riposte, because at that moment someone caught his eye and his expression once again became grave. “I thank you for the refreshing conversation. If you ever do meet the Duke, I hope you will manage to cling to consciousness despite his fearsome charm. Good night to you.” He gave a very proper bow and disappeared into the crush. The lovely ballroom seemed suddenly lackluster in his absence.

  What an extremely improper conversation, I thought with a delighted shiver, since I was now sure we hadn’t been introduced according to protocol. I was fortunate that Lady Chadwick had been knee-deep in on dits and had failed to notice my shocking behavior.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I recalled myself to the present moment, in which my put-upon chaperone was still speaking. “The Earl is comfortable enough on his own, and should the Duke, the good Lord forbid, succumb to an untimely end, he will be one of the wealthiest men in England. I shall send your acceptance this very moment. I will tell the Earl to pay us a call tomorrow.”

  I did not waste my breath with an argument. It was a good match, and my Papa would be most happy with it. I could very well have ended up the bride of some ancient, liver-spotted count, several of whom had hovered near me at times. It was a pity the Earl wasn’t more…intriguing. More like that mysterious man who had engaged me in conversation for such a brief moment, but who had never entirely left my mind.

  The Earl of Dorchester seemed a bit too much like my brothers to engage my interest. I felt I already knew everything there was to know about the Earl. Horses, brawls, hunting, horses, occasional gambling, horses and hunting. What else did I desire? I couldn’t say. I could only feel its lack.

  Never mind that kind of thinking. For a girl in my situation, tedium was a small price to pay. I would accept the Earl’s proposal and be happy.

  Chapter Two

  It certainly qualified as a whirlwind courtship. In quick order, the banns were read, our wedding vows exchanged, and the Earl of Dorchester and I found ourselves rattling across the countryside in a fine traveling carriage drawn by a magnificent pair of chestnuts. Behind us followed a baggage coach and a groom on horseback leading my new husband’s black thoroughbred alongside.

  My husband spoke of all three horses with great enthusiasm during the entire journey from London to Surrey. We were to spend our first few nights as a married couple in a friend’s country house. My new husband refused to disclose the identity of our benefactor.

  When I expressed my surprise, a wave of red crept up his face. “I’m your husband,” he snapped. “You ought to trust me to manage our affairs.”

  I was loath to start married life with a quarrel, so I murmured simply, “Why, of course I do, my lord.”

  He relented enough to explain, “An old friend of mine, a mentor of sorts, someone I’ve known since I was a baby, offered us the use of it.”

  “How very kind.”

  “My own manor is quite far, in Suffolk.”

  “Suffolk has many appealing features, or so I have been told.”

  “Yes. The trout fishing is quite good, and the hunting is unmatched anywhere in England.”

  “You must find it very much to your liking.”

  By the impatient way he nodded, I knew he had already tired of our conversation, and indeed, why should he not have? It was tedious in the extreme to be discussing such trivialities during what might be considered a momentous occasion, our first extended conversation as a married couple.

  “Do you prefer the country or the city?”

  His question surprised me, as I thought he already knew I’d barely spent any time in London at all. But then, we knew very little about each other.

  “I vastly prefer the country. I find the London air to be filthy and very likely to clog the lungs, and as for the social whirl, it is utterly exhausting. I would prefer to milk cows in the dairy rather than fix a smile to my face whilst I dance with every young man who is commanded to do so by his mother.”

  Dorchester’s mouth dropped at this speech of mine. And no wonder, as it was the most I had ever uttered in his presence, and certainly the most candid.

  “Although the parks are lovely,” I stammered, in retreat from my own frankness.

  Dorchester laughed, a hearty sound that bounced around the carriage. “There’s something we can agree to, then. I detest the time I spend in Town. Now that I’m in the parson’s mousetrap, I no longer must drag myself to Almack’s like a trained monkey.”

  We smiled at each other, delighted to have found some common ground.

  The carriage ran over a bump in the road, causing my husband to lurch sideways until he was nearly on top of me.

  I clutched at him until the carriage had righted itself. But even when it had, he did not immediately return to his previous position. Instead, he held me close and gazed into my eyes. The unfamiliar feeling of physical closeness to a man who was not a brother created a pleasant sense of anticipation. I found myself hoping he would kiss me on the lips. I had always wondered what that would be like.

  But he did not. Instead he did a thing that nearly snatched the breath from my body. He put his hand on my bosom. His hand was hot, even through the thick wool of my traveling pelisse. It created a sensation that I have to admit was not unpleasant. But in that moment, I was too surprised to do more than gape at him.

  Quickly he pulled it away, then sat back on his seat as if nothing untoward had occurred. And perhaps it had not. I was, after all, his wife. And I was aware that he was entitled to do whatever he pleased with my body. But to the best of my limited knowledge, such intimacies were meant to be performed in the privacy of a bedchamber.

  Married life, I supposed, had many surprises to come. I curled back into the seat, listened to the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and tried to determine the nature of the feeling my husband’s hand had ignited in my flesh. For it was true that the breast that had borne the weight of his hand felt strangely different from the one that had not.

  From the safety of my nest in the corner, I eyed my new husband, whose leg was now jumping impatiently while he watched the pretty countryside pass by. He certainly was a well-muscled man. His thighs and calves looked as if they might burst right out of his clothing. All his movements were quick and impulsive. I wondered how many teacups he’d broken in his mother’s drawing room as a child. His most notable feature was the vibrant summer blue of his eyes. He reminded me of my brother Harry, who loved climbing trees and dropping frogs down my back.

  I wondered if I could love him. To my understanding, wives were not required to love their husbands in the romantic sense, although they were expected to obey them and bear their children and share their beds when requested. I suspected that I wouldn’t mind sharing the Earl’s bed. But could I love him the way I’d always wished I would love a husband?

  I eyed him dubiously. In my secret fantasies, my love would be a man who saw into my soul, who commanded my heart, someone strong and masterly. But my new husband was so boy-like, I could not
imagine feeling more than a sort of sisterly affection for him. Once again, my mind strayed to the green-eyed man at the ball. Why did I remember every word we had spoken, while I had to force myself to pay attention to my husband’s description of his last hunt?

  My unruly thoughts kept me company during the rest of our short journey. The coach pulled up outside a charming stone manse with a chimney on each end, already puffing smoke in a most welcoming manner. Pink roses tumbled over each other in a tangle of artful disarray, a style that I much preferred to the more well-tended gardens one saw in London. The windows sparkled, and a grove of horse chestnuts in full bloom created a lovely sense of privacy. Whoever owned this house had exquisite taste.

  A team of footmen jumped to attention to deal with the horses and assist us with our baggage. I had brought only two trunks with me, which had surprised Lord Dorchester, since ladies generally travel with many more. I did not tell him that what was in those trunks represented the sum total of my worldly possessions.

  My husband led me up to the open door of the house, where the butler awaited us. He bowed before us and murmured, “Welcome to Notre Plaisir,” but at the time I could not decipher the name. A bustling housekeeper took charge of me and herded me up the curving staircase to a darling chamber that she informed me was to be mine. I felt sure I’d arrived in heaven. I saw a large four-poster bed with emerald velvet bed hangings and a matching counterpane. Bowls of roses filled the room with a delicious scent. The large casement windows were open to the warm May breeze, and a riot of singing birds recalled the chattering crowds at a London ball. The housekeeper introduced me to the girl who was to be my abigail, since I had no maid of my own. Her name was Annie and she bobbed a shy curtsy at me.

  When the housekeeper had gone, Annie helped me remove my pelisse. “Would ye like ta rest a while, my lady?” she asked in a pretty country accent.

  When you’re a gently bred young lady, people are constantly asking you if you want to rest. In point of fact, I did not want to rest. I wanted to explore this delightful spot, to race down the sloping hillside to see if there was a creek nearby, to bury my nose in the wild roses and hunt for other favorites—harebells and wild pansies and daisies. Raised in the country, I was accustomed to running free and digging in the dirt, not resting in the middle of a beautiful day.

  But I was a married lady now, so I sighed and told the girl, “Yes, I thank you. I will take my rest now. Please wake me when supper draws near.”

  “Of course, my lady.” She helped me remove my dusty traveling dress, loosened my stays, then withdrew. After one more longing glance at the sparkling world outside my window, I lay down on the bed. Perhaps my husband would come to me. I was quite intrigued by the marital mysteries soon to unfold. To my surprise, the fatigue of the last few weeks took hold and I fell asleep, my last thought being the memory of the Earl’s hand on my bosom.

  * * * * *

  Notre Plaisir, that afternoon

  “I trust your journey was a pleasant one?” In the stables, the Marquis watched, amused, as Dorchester brushed the mane of one of his chestnuts. A stable hand’s work, performed by an Earl.

  “Pleasant enough.”

  “And my little Alicia?”

  “Pretty. She’s a quiet one.”

  “Restful to the ears, I believe was your request.”

  “Yes, not one of those irritating chatterboxes. Though I hope she’s not overly quiet.” The Earl frowned and stubbed his boot into the straw on the floor of the stables.

  “Meaning?”

  “I didn’t mention this in our previous discussion, but I require a certain liveliness between the sheets. I don’t want to feel as if I’m in a museum or a subscription library where you can’t make a peep.”

  “My dear boy, you stun me.”

  The Earl looked up at the mocking face of the Marquis, which was now drawn into lines of exaggerated astonishment.

  “Have you actually entered the doors of a library? Why, this is shocking news indeed.”

  “Oh, balderdash. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I do, and I don’t mean to make sport of you on your wedding night. Let me assure you that your concerns are unfounded. Have you never heard the phrase ‘still waters run deep’?”

  “Maybe I have, I pay no attention to such things,” said the Earl with an impatient shrug.

  “Alicia Silverwood, excuse me, the Countess of Dorchester, may be quiet, but she runs deep. Deep and passionate. You need have no fears on that count.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Little Alicia and I had a memorable encounter one day when she was no more than twelve or thirteen.”

  The Earl dropped his mane comb on the stable floor. “You didn’t,” he said in horror.

  “No, no, I’m not nearly as perverse as you think,” answered the Marquis with irritation. “Alicia was doing some exploring of her own, and I simply happened upon her. I can say no more.”

  “But she is untouched, is she not? You haven’t married me off to an impure—”

  “Dorch, not another word.” The Marquis held up a hand to stop his friend. “Your wife is a virgin, I have no doubt about that. Whether or not you deserve her is another matter. I will leave you to your horse. You show far more understanding of your hunters than you do of women.”

  “I am a master horseman.”

  “And I am a master cocksman. Tonight, you will hold your tongue until Alicia is begging for you and you have no doubt that you have acquired a woman of great passion and, as you say, liveliness.”

  The Earl picked up the comb and, grumbling, set back to work.

  * * * * *

  When I awoke, the house felt different. I lay for a moment collecting my thoughts. Darkness had fallen, and the sky outside my window was the deep blue of sapphires, fading into black. The air had become quite still. The murmur of crickets arose from the woods.

  But that wasn’t the source of the strangeness. After a moment, I realized what I’d sensed. Someone was in my room.

  “Annie?” I bolted up to a sitting position. “Is it time for supper? Have I missed the entire evening?”

  In the corner, where I vaguely remembered a settee positioned to look out the window, a figure rose from the shadows.

  “No, indeed,” said the figure, revealing itself to be a man.

  “Lord Dorchester?” I said it tentatively, knowing even as I spoke that the man was not my husband. I recognized that voice, though I was still too sleep-addled to bring the name to mind.

  “No,” he said, coming closer. He bent to light a candle from the fire, and with a shock I saw the dark eyes and weatherworn face I’d known since I was a child.

  “Beaumont?” The night had slipped into a realm of absurdity that made me wonder if perhaps I still dreamed.

  The Marquis gave a mocking bow. “Ma petite Alicia.”

  “I’m married now,” I said nonsensically.

  “Yes, I know. You’re married to my young friend the Earl of Dorchester.”

  “Your friend…”

  Realizing I was in utter dishabille, I wrapped the coverlet around me. It seemed inconsequential under his burning gaze, as if his eyes alone could shrivel the lace into smoke. “Please explain why you are in my bedchamber.”

  “Please explain why you are in my bedchamber.”

  “Your…” A piece of the puzzle fell into place. “This is your house?”

  “Indeed. Notre Plaisir. Perhaps you’ve heard me speak of it over the years. My haven, my hideaway from the rigors of Town life. You look lovely in this bed, ma chérie, just as I anticipated. Now I suggest you give up this missish behavior and exit from those coverlets so I can get a better look at you.”

  “But, I’m not, Dorchester is…” I spluttered. This made no sense. Dorchester was my husband, and yet here was the Marquis behaving as if he had the rights to me.

  “Dorch is your husband. He is well aware that I am in this room at this moment, and he knows pr
ecisely what I intend to do. That is to say, not precisely, as he possesses very little imagination, poor boy. Perhaps you’ve noticed this fact?”

  I had, but I didn’t see how it concerned the Marquis. “What does any of this have to do with the fact that you’re here with me, when it should be my husband?”

  The Marquis lit another candle with the one he was holding and placed it in a wall sconce. He did the same with several more, so the room filled with flickering candlelight. It added to the feeling of being in a dream. He closed the window so the air from outside wouldn’t disturb the candles. The murmur of crickets and other night noises subsided, so we were alone in this silent bedchamber, the Marquis and I.

  When he was done, he turned to me. “Do you remember that brief but memorable moment in the barn at Silverwood Manor?”

  My face burned. How could I ever forget such a mortifying event?

  “You displaying your delicious young bosom to that ragamuffin.”

  “He was a goatherd,” I said hotly.

  “So you told me. And a mute. You explained that you’d chosen him so he wouldn’t betray your secret.”

  “I was curious! I merely wanted to see for myself—” I bit down on my lip. The Marquis already knew what I’d wanted, since he’d interrogated me relentlessly at the time.

  He prowled toward me like a lynx stalking the chicken coop. “I’ve never forgotten the sight of you, with your dress all undone. You were on the verge of letting him put his hand to your nipple, were you not?”

  “No,” I answered hotly, because such a thing would be unthinkable for a young lady. The whole adventure was unthinkable, but a fever of insatiable curiosity had taken hold of me, and I had proceeded with my bacon-brained idea without further thought.

  “You can’t hide the truth from me, Alicia. I know you too well.”

  “I think you should leave now.” I clutched the counterpane around me to add an additional layer of protection, as his slow approach had brought him to the foot of the bed.