A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (2 page)

Such would never be Aurora’s
fate.

Not even if she lived to be an old
maid, forever alone. Being alone scared her far less than being
trapped in a marriage so sad and so wrong.

She need not fear for her
own provision, after all. Aurora would become Viscountess
Hyatt
suo jure
after her father passed, inheriting all of his properties and
his fortune as well. She would never want for anything. For that
one small favor, she was very thankful, indeed, that Queen
Elizabeth had been a bit eccentric in the way she handled her
affairs.

Still, even though Aurora
needn’t take a husband, some small part of her wanted one. Just not
the
wrong
one.

A tiny voice at the back of
her mind screamed that Lord Quinton was most egregiously and
odiously the
wrong
one.

But a much louder voice at the
forefront of her mind had already set to work, plotting out how
exciting their lives would be once they were together.

Gracious. Deciding which of those two
voices to obey might be the death of her.

~ * ~

The curtains were ripped back to a
blinding sun. “You’re making an arse of yourself. And of me. I
don’t like it.”

Quin groaned at the throb building
behind his eyes and pulled the counterpane up higher. It couldn’t
be noon yet. There was no call for him to be out of bed. Or for his
friend to be barging in on him when he was clearly still recovering
from a rather unproductive evening about Town, followed by a stop
at a lovely tavern where he had proceeded to spend a touch more
coin than he had intended on whiskey and women, and perhaps on a
mite of gambling.

Much like he had always
done.

Niles Thornton, Baron Quinton was
nothing if not predictable. He followed the pattern laid out before
him by his father, to the point that he’d now perfected
it.

All of which Sir Jonas Buchannan
clearly knew. His friend had never been the fiendish sort before
now. What in bloody hell had crawled up his prick and died? “Sod
off, will you?”

In answer, Jonas stripped the
bedclothes from the bed, dragging Quin off with them.

Quin landed with a loud thud on the
floor. “Christ, what do you want?” he bellowed. Every inch of his
backside now burned like the clap, somewhat diminishing the pain in
his head. But only somewhat.

“
You. Up. Now.” Jonas bit
the words off then left, dragging the bedding behind.

Blast
. He’d either have to get up or catch his death from the
cold.

Quin stumbled to his feet, steadying
himself at the bureau before taking a fleeting glance in the
mirror. Two days’ worth of stubble. Not too bad. He could go
another day or two before dealing with that. His eyes were as red
as that vixen’s dress, though. What was her name, again? Lady
Kingston? Lady Kennelly? All he could remember her as was Lady
Kiss-Me-Down-There, with a bosom designed to send men directly to
either heaven or hell. Quin didn’t particularly care which one he
was sent to, either, just as long as he could bury himself inside
her for a bit.

So he had.

And it had been heaven.

At least it had been heaven
until
Lord
Kiss-Me-Down-There walked into Bythewood’s library and found
him kissing her down there. Then it had most decidedly turned to
hell.

Which might explain the swelling he’d
just discovered over his rather blood-shot eye. Had her husband hit
him? He couldn’t quite remember. Everything became a bit muddled
after the heavenly bit.

Enough with wondering what happened.
If it was truly important, someone would remind him. In fact, Jonas
might just be preparing to do precisely that. Quin pulled on a pair
of breeches and did up enough of the buttons to keep the flap in
place, then grabbed his overcoat from the previous evening,
shrugging it on as he left the chamber to join his friend in the
study.

The doors had been left open, so Quin
didn’t bother with knocking. A few platters of meats and baked eggs
were laid out by the window, but the smell of them sent his stomach
to churning. Instead, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a
brandy.

“
A little early for that,
don’t you think?” Jonas called out. He sat behind his desk, reading
some missive or another.

Good God, it was too early in the day
to be reading missives. It was never too early for a brandy,
though. In response, Quin downed it in one swill, then poured
another.

“
Would you care to inform
me what is so imperative that my presence is required at this
ungodly hour?” Quin’s voice sounded rough even to his own ears,
making his tone even surlier than he had intended.

“
Would
you
care to inform me what,
precisely, you said to Lady Kislingbury about her bosom at the
Bythewood ball yesterday evening, within earshot of at least a
dozen other people?”

Kislingbury. That was it.

Kiss-Me-Down-There had a distinctly
more appealing ring, though.

“
I would love to. But I
can’t recall. At least, not the precise words.”

“
So you admit to
it?”

“
I admit to nothing. Not
until I know what I’m being accused of. There are a number of
things I
could
admit to, and even more that I likely
should
admit to—”

“
Bugger off, Quin.” Jonas
raked a hand through his hair and let out a ragged sigh. “Just tell
me the truth. Me. The one person in this world you claim you can
trust.”

Jonas always had to go and ruin the
fun, didn’t he?

“
You commented on her
bosom?”

“
I did.”

Jonas gave a wry grin. “Care to
elaborate?”

“
I believe I mentioned that
her rather generous décolletage was one of the loveliest sights to
be seen last evening, and that she had displayed it to exquisite
advantage. Then I asked if I might view it a bit
closer.”

“
Devil take it.”

“
She was kind enough to
allow me to do just that. Amongst a few other things.”

Jonas’s gaze burned. “Is that what
you’re here for? To make a cuckold of other gentlemen? You had
better find a new entrée into society, if that’s the
case.”

“
You know me better than
that.”

“
Do I? If that’s not it,
why are you here? You owe me an explanation, Quin. Something more
than ‘Let me stay with you for a while so I can attend some balls.’
You’ve been scaring the young ladies and their chaperones. Not a
man I know trusts you. And now you’re going after their
wives.”

“
Lady Kiss-Me…er, Lady
Kislingbury was just a distraction.”

“
From what?”

Quin shot up from his chair and paced.
“From this bloody nonsense Rotheby has set for me!” Well. Blast.
That wasn’t quite the way Quin had intended to go about all of
this.

Jonas raised an eyebrow but withheld
his questions.

“
Rotheby sent for me a
fortnight ago. Said it was urgent, that I must attend to him at
once. When I arrived at Roundstone Park, he threatened
me.”

“
Your grandfather
threatened you. His heir.” The baronet had perfected the art of the
dubious expression.

“
I couldn’t make this up if
I tried,” Quin said. “The old codger said that if I don’t change my
ways, if I don’t marry and produce an heir, he’ll cut me off. Take
Quinton Abbey from me. Leave me to fend for myself until such time
as he dies and can’t keep me from everything anymore. Hell, I think
he’s already decided to leave Roundstone to someone else. It isn’t
under entail.”

“
Is that it? All of this is
because your grandfather wants you to secure the line?”

“
He spouted off some other
excrement about needing to learn to manage my estate, about not
being a ‘wastrel,’ but the bulk of it was about the damned
heir.”

“
Well, if that’s the case,
you’re not going about any of this in a very intelligent manner.
Lady Kislingbury cannot fill your nursery. And the ladies
who
could
do as
much will all be running for the hills, based on the
recommendations of their chaperones. You need a new
strategy.”

Didn’t he know it? “Any suggestions?”
Quin drawled.

“
A few.”

No surprise there. Jonas may be his
best friend, but he was never slow to tell Quin when he needed to
change his ways. Which was often. Almost perpetually.

Jonas pierced him with a solemn stare.
“To start, you must stay away from married ladies.”

“
Noted.” He could easily
find a whore or two willing to slake his needs. In fact, he might
have already done just that last night. Damned if he could remember
them though.

Jonas continued to spout off his list.
“You must make yourself presentable to the unmarried ladies and
their chaperones—mothers, sisters, aunts. They have to believe you
are a worthy gentleman, not a scoundrel.”

“
But I am a
scoundrel.”

“
I know. And therein lies
our problem.”

If Jonas didn’t get to the solution
before Quin took two more breaths, he might just throttle him.
“So…?”

“
So you have to change your
ways. Present a good image. Play the part.” A cheeky grin spread
wide across Jonas’s face.

“
Meaning what, precisely?”
Quin wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to know.

“
Meaning no more drinking
and gambling and whoring. Meaning you must
seem
like a perfect gentleman, even
if you aren’t one.” Jonas took a long look at him, spending more
time than necessary on Quin’s overlong hair, his unkempt jaw line,
the wrinkled and disheveled clothing. “Meaning dressing and
grooming according to the current fashions.”

“
You’re joking,” Quin said.
He liked having his hair long. He hated shaving. And he bloody well
could not abide the thought of primping himself like a blasted
dandy.

Jonas barked with laughter. “I’m not.
I assure you, I am quite serious.”

“
Damned cur.”

“
A damned cur who will help
you find a bride and keep your fortunes.”

Blast him.
“Fair enough. What else must I do?”

“
Well, I would suggest we
try a different tactic for gaining introductions to the
marriageable young ladies. Perhaps I should go with you to some
functions, introduce you around. If you are seen alongside me,
maybe your reputation will begin to change.”

Quin imagined being shackled to
Jonas’s side, only talking to those who the esteemed baronet deemed
worthy of his company. “So you’re going to be my deuced
escort?”

“
Not exactly. But you need
someone to soften your image. And you need me for another reason,
too.”

“
What, pray tell, might
that be?” Quin asked, unable to hide the droll tone.

“
Rotheby wants an heir
within a year. That means you needed a bride yesterday. You should
already be working toward filling your nursery, but instead, you
haven’t even begun the search for the lady to do just
that.”

“
And how are you involved
in all of this?”

“
I’ve spent several Seasons
in Town. I know which ladies are most likely to be in desperate
need of a husband. Which I’m afraid you’ll need. Desperation, that
is. Why else would a young miss be inclined to hitch herself to the
likes of you?”

Why, indeed?

Chapter Two

31 March, 1811

Aunt Sedgewick’s voice can
be dreadfully nasally and high-pitched at times. Perhaps it is
because she always speaks with her nose turned high in the air. I
daresay if more people followed her example, we might live in a
country full of nasally-sounding speakers. I should hate to live in
such a country. It would be rather awful enough to keep my
attentions from where I would prefer them to be at the
moment
—
imagining
what Lord Quinton must be like, should I ever be afforded the
opportunity to meet him. However, I would be stunned to my core if
the man would ever make any statement at all related to Aunt
Sedgewick’s décolletage.

~From the journal of Miss
Aurora Hyatt

The dinner party seemed interminable.
Baffling. Boring. And, as the hostess alongside her father, Aurora
simply could not escape early.

Try as she might to focus on the
conversation around the table, her thoughts kept drifting back to
her story—which was rapidly becoming the most delightful, and
admittedly risqué, story she had ever written.

This fact did not surprise her
overmuch. Aurora’s typical story fodder revolved around the
gentlemen who paid her court. Gentlemen much like the ones
currently around her dinner table, discussing the lovely fireworks
they had seen at Vauxhall the previous evening, the soprano who had
performed an aria at Lady Pendleton’s concert the prior week, and
the likelihood of continued sunshine over the next
fortnight.