A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels (31 page)

"I wish my father could be here. He served with Wellington on the Peninsula, before he was made a quartermaster. They spoke several times. Perhaps if I were to approach the duke, to tell him about my father..."

Spencer shook his head. "Ah, there it is. I knew you'd find some way to have yourself included. But truthfully? If Chance's idea doesn't work, we could think about that. But you'll need a few more gowns, Mariah. You'll need them in any event, but especially if you want to try to get us an audience with the Iron Duke."

Mariah felt her temper rising. "So you're going to shunt me off, send me shopping with Julia?"

"Actually, I thought we'd go to Bond Street together tomorrow, you and I."

"Oh." Mariah was nonplussed and rather amazed at the way her heart did a small flip in her chest. "Really? Just the two of us?"

Spencer smiled. "Just the two of us and please realize the enormity of my sacrifice. I'd rather face a dozen howling Americans than set foot in any shop filled with lace and satins. However, at my count, you own two presentable gowns, Mariah, as I won't consider anything you brought with you when you arrived at Becket Hall. And I'm most certainly not including what you're wearing now."

She took his hand and stood up, pretending not to notice how handsome he looked in the orange glow of the fire. "What's wrong with—oh, never mind. It's obvious what's wrong with it," she said, looking down at her much let-out and then nipped in again grey gown that was now travel stained and wrinkled from having slept in it. "All right, I suppose I will have to go shopping for a few more things such as we found in Calais. But not until the afternoon, please. I want to go to the park with you to reconnoiter. I have a fairly good military mind, you know."

"I believe I will spend the next fifty years learning the scope of your talents, yes. I'll be interested in just where you think we should set our perimeter. According to Clovis, you personally positioned the guards each night after Moraviantown."

Mariah nodded, remembering those weeks; in the swamp, on the way north to safety. "Papa and I spent many a long winter's night discussing battles both recent and ancient. I know where Alexander made his mistakes, where Caesar overextended his troops, how the Americans turned defeat into victory during their revolt. Papa had wanted a son, I believe," she ended, smiling, "but when he got me, he eventually decided to make the best of the situation. I only wish I'd learned how to ride. I was always stuck in a wagon with the supplies, you understand. And I hated being inside that coach on our way here, instead of riding with you."

Spencer stepped closer to her, stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Once we're done with Beales, and Morgan and Ethan are home again, I'll take you to Tanner's Roost. They raise horses, you know. You'll have your pick, as my wedding gift to you, and I'll teach you to ride."

"I...I'd like that," Mariah said, aware of the dark fire that had come into Spencer's eyes as he continued to look at her, as he cupped her chin in his hands. "Mostly, I think I like talking about a time beyond this monster, Edmund Beales, a time for us to.. .to get to know one another."

Spencer slid an arm around her waist, drawing her closer. He hadn't come to her tonight with the intent of being serious but some things had to be said. "I already know one thing, Mariah. I know I want you in my life. A few months ago, I didn't even know you or William existed. But I felt your absence. I felt the need for you both. I just didn't recognize that need—that emptiness—for what it was. The part of me that was missing, has been missing all my life."

"Spencer, I..." Mariah said, raising her hands to his cheeks. "Thank you."

He gave a small chuckle. "Thank you? Am 1 frightening you at last, Mariah? I'll admit that I'm frightened."

"Then I suppose.. .I suppose it's better that we be frightened together?"

"I'm sorry about the other night. For thinking you were only looking for.. .for a safe haven."

Mariah bit her bottom lip, nodded. "But I was, Spencer. Think of it. Alone, nearly penniless, carrying a child—even responsible for Onatah. I didn't know what I'd find when I found you, found Becket Hall. I didn't, couldn't, expect to fall into one of the deepest gravy boats in all of England, be welcomed so openly—even given the promise of a new life in Virginia. How could I have known that? But I'll be honest. I didn't travel halfway around the world because I longed for nothing more than to see your smiling face again."

Spencer grinned down at her. "Oh, now I'm crushed."

"No, you're not," she told him seriously. "We did what we had to do. For William. But I'll try to be a good wife to you, Spencer, I promise. I'm going to try very hard to be a good wife."

Spencer laughed, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed, dropping her so that she actually bounced on the soft mattress. "Very well, good wife. For starters, let's see how obedient you can be when you put your mind to it, shall we? I suggest we begin with" getting rid of that horrible gown."

Mariah sat up, looking at him through her spill of flaming hair. "Horrible? No, not horrible.
Horrendous.
And there are
so
many tiresome buttons."

"Now
that's
an invitation," Spencer said, stripping off his shirt as he joined her on the bed, turned her onto her stomach. "And just to make sure you're never tempted to wear this
horrendous
gown again, I believe it's time you were shed of the thing, once and for all."

She felt his hands at the middle of her back, as he'd already opened several of the buttons, and then felt a sharp tug as he pulled at either side of the gown, ripping it straight down past her waist, buttons flying everywhere, the aged material giving easily under his strength.

There was need on both sides. There was apprehension on both sides. There was the moment without knowing what the next days would bring. There was their future, tantalizingly close, dangerously far away, possibly out of reach.

With so little in their control, they took the moment they had. Coming together with a heat born of that moment, knowing that danger and possible disaster loomed in their futures, ready to rip away all that they had, all that they might hope to have.

It was a mutual devouring, an explosion of the senses. Touch. Taste.

Mariah allowed Spencer to be the aggressor that first mind-shattering night of their marriage. She'd experienced, savored, marveled, enjoyed.

But they were equals now, each knowing the limits to the pleasure they could give each other and knowing that the pleasure was limitless.

What he had done, she did now, sliding down his body, learning it, touching.. .tasting.

There was no shame, no hesitancy, no fear. After all, morning might never come. Why not take all that the night could hold for them?

Spencer's kisses were long, drugging, and returned with a new daring that surprised them both.

Her hands learned him, shaped him, cupped him, brought forth a response that made Mariah feel powerful, if not in complete control.

He would teach her to ride, he'd said, and he began his lessons when she thought she was sated, ready to curl against him and find sleep once more. But sleep was the last thing on her mind when he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Encouraged her to straddle him, move with him, move against him even as he held tight to her waist, guiding her onto him, into her.

He was so deep inside her, filling her so completely, but she wanted more. More, harder, faster.

As he skimmed her rib cage with the lightest touch, then teased at her nipples, she lost all thought and could only react. Moving against him, grinding against him, throwing back her head as she rode him, drove him, straining to take him deeper.

"Hold me.. .hold me.. .please," she begged him and he lifted himself up, pulling her tight against him as she swung her long legs out and then wrapped them around him even as she dug her fingers into his strong back, nipped at and kissed the side of his neck, suckled hard at the sweat-slick skin; not knowing why, just that he tasted so good.

They moved together, rose together, hung suspended together, exploded and crashed through the universe together and then fell back against the mattress, reluctant to let each other go, even as they slowly recaptured their breath and slipped into sleep....

Spencer heard the knock on the door and willed it away, willed the world away.

"Lieutenant, sir? All pardon, sir, but you said to wake you all prompt at five. Mr. Chance is already downstairs and halfway through a fine mess of coddled eggs. You'd best hurry, sir."

"Yes, thank you, Clovis," Spencer called out, already easing from beneath Mariah, who still lay half on top of him, some of her long hair caught under his shoulder. "Sorry, sweetings," he said as she moaned softly and then turned onto her side.

Gathering up his clothes, he slipped off to the dressing room, splashed cold water on his face, then quickly washed, ran his wet fingers through his hair and pulled on the clean linen Clovis had laid out for him the previous evening. He all but dove into his hacking jacket and breeches and then carried his boots into the
hallway, to put on once he was downstairs, and saw Chance waiting for him at the front door.

"Well, don't you have the look of a happily married man," Chance said, watching as Spencer sat down on the third step from the bottom and pulled on his boots. "And injured in battle, I see, as well."

Spencer looked at him owlishly.

Chance raised his hand, pointed to the side of his own neck. "You've a lovely advertisement of your wife's ardor, just there. I'd pull my neck cloth higher, were I you, to spare your bride's blushes—and Rian's, if he should see it.
He's such an impressionable lad."

Spencer clapped a hand to the side of his neck. "Jesus. Do you have to notice everything?"

"Not really, no. But what I miss, Julia catches, so now you're twice warned. Are you sure you don't want to go back upstairs? I could manage this without you, you know."

"Perhaps," Spencer said, getting to his feet, taking the gloves, hat and riding crop that a red-faced, clearly inawe Clovis held out for him. "But how many men can say they've spoken directly to the Duke of Wellington?"

'Thousands, probably," Chance told him as a footman opened the door and they stepped out to the flagway where their mounts waited, Jacmel giving the groom fits as he danced in place and fought to be free. Spencer's bay stood docilely, but that didn't mean the horse wasn't ready to run. Fernando just played his cards closer to the vest, as it were, and wouldn't try to bolt until Spence was on his back. "The trick, I'm afraid, will be in having the man speak to us in return. Shall we?"

Jacmel settled once Chance had his feet in the stirrups, which was when the bay, with Spencer just sliding his left foot into the stirrup, tossed his head and reared up on his back legs.

"As wild as his master," Chance said as Spencer fought the horse back under control. "Or is it that he's still taking revenge for getting him shot?"

Spencer drew up alongside Chance, grinning. "No, he bit me for that, so we've called it even. God's teeth, Chance, this city stinks. It smells old and filthy and everything is yellow with dust. How do you stand it?"

"All cities smell," his brother said as they made their way to the park gate. "It's why we have parks. Sometimes, if we're lucky, we can even look up in a park and see the sky without a chimney pot in the way."

They reined in their mounts just inside the gate and Chance swore under his breath. "But not today. God, look at this mess."

Spencer half-stood in the stirrups as they walked the horses forward, to see wooden booths and stalls and endless rows of tiered plank seating being nosily hammered into existence on every side. Banners were being hung; cooking pots were strapped on the backs of strong men in leather aprons; lanterns were being carried up tall ladders and tied to tree branches. There were already at least three dozen small replicas of ships floating at the edge of the waters of the Serpentine. As far as he could see, the perimeter of the large park was being cluttered with clever distractions and lined with convenient places for assassins to hide. Add several thousand people to the mix in a few days, and their task was beginning to seem impossible.

"What are those buildings in the distance?" he asked as a group of laborers in white smocks cut across their path, leading a string of donkeys with bales and sacks strapped to their sides.

"lust a small conglomeration, although there is one building that might concern us. The last one on the right—the powder magazine."

Spencer didn't like that. "Munitions are stored here in the park? Isn't that convenient."

"I know. When we get closer, you'll see that I've already stationed ten of our men in the area. But it's a fine mess, isn't it? It's no wonder we're the only ones here to exercise our horses. We can only hope Wellington hasn't decided his Copenhagen would be happier in Richmond Park. At any rate, let's give them their heads. From here to that first group of plane trees over there," he said, pointing with his riding crop. "Do you see where I mean? Just past the banner proclaiming that stall as the home of the Veteran Prince Bliicher Ices and Stout, no less."

Spencer didn't answer, as he'd already put his heels to Fernando's flanks and was off in an immediate gallop. He wasn't being unfair; he simply knew that Jacmel would have Chance at the trees in time for his master to dismount, light a cheroot and probably smoke half of it before Spencer arrived, because the stallion was built for speed, the bay for endurance.