Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (25 page)

A menacing expression came over Landsdowne’s face, cold brutality in his eyes. Was this how he’d looked years ago when he’d beaten Gabriel? Was this what Gabriel had faced every day for years before he’d finally grown old enough to escape his uncle’s vindictive grasp?

“I can see now that you are beyond assistance,” Landsdowne told her. “He has already polluted your mind and no doubt corrupted your body as well. You deserve him.”

She drew herself up proudly. “You are right. I do. Now I must ask you once more to leave. Or do I need to have one of the servants escort you out?”

“Oh, and which one would that be?” he taunted. “All of them are still loyal to me.”

“Not all.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Charles had returned, the plate of sandwiches in his hand. He set them down. “My lady. May I be of assistance?”

“Yes, you may. Charles, Mr. Landsdowne was just leaving. If you would be so good as to show him out.”

The footman stepped to one side, waiting for Landsdowne to walk past.

Landsdowne glared. “Insolent chit. You will receive no further welcome from me or mine.”

“Good. If they are yours, then I want no welcome. Good day, sir.”

After chuffing out a breath, he spun on his heels and stalked away. Charles followed.

It was only once he’d gone that she realized she was trembling, head to foot. Laying a hand across her stomach, she sank back down onto the sofa, afraid otherwise that her knees might give out.

In the distance, she heard the front door close and, a minute later, the sound of coach wheels driving away.

Charles returned. “He is gone, my lady. Will there be anything else?”

She took a moment more to collect herself, then nodded. Before she could let herself collapse, she had one more thing to do.

“Yes, actually, there is. Please tell Mrs. Foy and Mr. Starr that I wish to see them immediately.”

If he wondered why, he didn’t give any indication. “Very good, milady.”

“Oh, and take those sandwiches away. I have no use for them.”

Charles picked up the tea tray and left.

Esme waited, hands folded in her lap.

Mrs. Foy and Starr entered the room a short while later.

“You asked to speak with us, my lady?” Mrs. Foy said in her usual cool tone.

“I did.” She looked at them, studying the pair with fresh eyes. “Mr. Starr, was it you who let Mr. Landsdowne into the house this afternoon, then left him unattended to roam at will?”

Starr and Foy exchanged looks. “I greeted him on his arrival, yes. But you were out at the time, my lady,” Mr. Starr said. “Mr. Landsdowne is his lordship’s uncle. I did not see any harm in leaving him unattended, as it were.”

She turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Foy, I am given
to understand that you and Mr. Landsdowne are in the habit of corresponding with one another. Is that true?”

“Well, I write to him on occasion. But I have known Mr. Sidney for a great many years, since the time when he was a young man.”

“And this correspondence? Did it by chance involve information related to Lord Northcote and myself? Personal information that only someone in this household would be privy to?”

Mrs. Foy puffed out her bony chest. “I may have mentioned a few details here and there, but nothing of significance. As Mr. Starr said, Mr. Landsdowne is family.”

“Family who detests Lord Northcote and seeks only to do him harm. To do me harm.”

“Why, I—,” Mrs. Foy exclaimed.

“You are dismissed,” Esme said quietly. “Both of you.”

Two sets of eyes popped wide, and Mr. Starr’s and Mrs. Foy’s mouths opened and closed like a pair of fish caught on a line. “But, milady—,” Mr. Starr sputtered.

“You have no right,” Mrs. Foy declared. “It is up to the master to decide such things.”

Esme sat calmly, her hands still clasped in her lap. “Of course. And what do you think your master will decide when I tell him that you have been spying on him all these years and that you’ve been conspiring against him with his uncle, the man who used to beat him as a child?”

Mrs. Foy opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her gaze lowering to the floor.

“Pack your belongings and leave this house,” Esme said firmly. “I expect both of you to be gone by nightfall.”

“Nightfall?” Mr. Starr looked stunned, while Mrs. Foy’s cheeks turned a sallower color than usual. “But where are we to go?”

“The village inn comes to mind. Otherwise, perhaps
Mr. Landsdowne is still in the vicinity and he can find accommodations for you. I would suggest you ask him for a character as well, since you shall receive none from me or his lordship.”

Rising to her feet, Esme crossed the room and tugged the bell pull. Both Charles and David arrived in the doorway almost immediately, making her think that they must have been waiting outside in the hall all this time. Most likely they had heard every word.

“Charles, David, Mr. Starr and Mrs. Foy are leaving us. Please see to it they do so without any fuss. Mrs. Foy, your keys.”

Esme held out her hand and waited.

The housekeeper sent her a bitter, resentful look, but did as she was ordered.

Esme nodded, her gaze returning to the footmen. “Have the dogcart readied to take them into the village.”

“Very good, my lady,” Charles said, David nodding his agreement.

“Oh, and Charles?” she added. “Once you have taken care of this matter, please come see me. I have something more to discuss.”

“Of course, Lady Esme. I mean, Lady Northcote.”

She smiled and let him go on his way.

•   •   •

A knock came at the library door nearly two hours later. Esme looked up from the book she had been trying, and failing, to read, her mind far too full of other thoughts.

Charles walked into the room.

“Is it done?” she asked without preamble.

He nodded. “Mr. Starr and Mrs. Foy drove away not five minutes ago. In a right dudgeon they were too. I kept an eye on Mr. Starr while one of the kitchen maids watched Mrs. Foy pack. Went through her baggage myself when she was done. Never heard such foul language from a woman in my life. Makes me wonder if she ever worked in Billingsgate as a fishwife.”

Esme sighed and set her book aside. “Thank you, Charles, for your help. You have been a godsend.”

“It’s always a privilege to serve you, my lady. The house will be far better off without those two in it. They were a grim pair, making life miserable for all of us while they complained of one thing after the next. You did the right thing, giving them the boot.”

She frowned. “Yes, but it would seem I am now without a housekeeper or a butler.”

“You’ll find someone soon. I’ve no doubt.”

“As to that, it brings me to the reason why I asked you to come see me. How many years of service do you have?”

“Sixteen years, my lady. I started as a hall boy at Braebourne when I was just a lad. Worked my way up to second footman there and first with you.”

“That seems a lengthy amount of time, or at least it does to me. What would you say to becoming butler here at Ten Elms?”

Charles’s eyebrows went high. “Butler? But, my lady, I don’t know if I’m prepared. I’m not even thirty. That’s young for the butler of a great house.”

“And I am only nineteen and already mistress here. Besides, I think you would make an excellent butler.”

“I thank you for the confidence, but I must warn you, I still have a great deal to learn.”

“Then we shall learn together.” She smiled widely. “Charles, or should I call you Bell now? I know you will do a splendid job as butler. But most importantly, I know that I can trust you, and that his lordship will be able to trust you as well. I want no one in this house who is either unkind or disloyal, and I will be counting on you to help me pick the right staff. I want to make this house a home again. Will you stand by my side, now when I need you most?”

Charles straightened his shoulders, a look of pride and determination on his face. “I will, your ladyship. I will not let you down.”

“Good.” Relief coursed through her. “First things
first: weed out anyone you think may still be in the pockets of Starr and Mrs. Foy.”

“Consider it done. I’ve one or two in mind, but the house is so short staffed that it’s not a problem. David is a good lad. And you’ve no worries with Paula. She’s already belowstairs celebrating Mrs. Foy’s and Mr. Starr’s departures.”

Esme nodded. “Hire whomever you require, as many staff as you think are needed.”

“I know a few likely people, and I’ll write to Mr. Croft. He may have some suggestions.”

“So long as we don’t steal them all from Braebourne, he ought to be amenable. Thank Croft and tell him I said he was to assist you.”

Charles grinned at that. “Yes, ma’am.”

“In the meantime, I am going down to London. I shall leave you in charge of the workmen and the pets I decide not to bring along with me. If any difficulties crop up, you have only to write.”

“Going to see his lordship?”

“Yes. I am.”

Whether he wants me there or not. I’m going to get my husband back.

“W
ill there be anything further, my lord?” a footman asked nine days later as he finished pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Gabriel, then cleared away his empty breakfast plate.

Gabriel glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. “No, thank you. That will be all for now.”

The footman withdrew, leaving him alone in the morning room that overlooked the garden at the rear of his town house in Cavendish Square.

From the corner of his eye, he watched a little brown wren land on a tree branch outside. It hopped a few inches on small bird feet before pausing to sing out a flourish of notes, its tiny feathered throat moving as it warbled a sweet song.

Then, as abruptly as it had arrived, it flew off again.

How Esme and her cats would have delighted in the small show. He could easily imagine the way she would have smiled, could hear the joyful sound of her laughter as she marveled at the simple yet beautiful sight. His eyes slid closed for a few moments as he thought of her.

Suddenly he came back to himself and the present moment.

Scowling heavily, he returned to his newspaper, forcing himself to continue the article he’d been reading.

But try as he might, the prose didn’t hold his attention, his thoughts drifting away as they did so frequently these days—to Esme, of course.

Always to Esme.

He’d assumed he would be over her by now. Nearly two months had passed since they’d parted, which ought to have been more than enough time for the heat of his desire to burn out. In the past, he’d never had
trouble shaking off a woman’s hold. Even his youthful love for Amanda had turned instantly to hate, then, not long after, to disdainful indifference.

Yet each day, Esme continued to plague him. Small, entirely random things would spark some memory of her or leave him wanting to share a comment or observation he knew she might enjoy. He would see and hear things when he was out and about in the city that brought her to mind—artwork and architecture, books and music, and the scents of ink and paper and paint in particular.

And animals. Everywhere, there were animals. Carriage horses and birds, stray dogs and alley cats, creatures that she would surely have longed to rescue from their plight. It had gotten so bad that he wasn’t even taking the pleasure he used to feel when he ate meat, especially if it still bore a strong resemblance to the animal from whence it had come. One evening at a dinner party with some male cronies of his, the chef had served whole fish. But when he’d looked at it lying on the serving platter, he’d had to omit that part of the meal, unable to eat the damned thing because of its sad stare, accusing even in death.

But of all the times he could not shake free of her memory, nighttime was worst. He would lie awake in his bed, tossing and turning, his body racked with desire. And when he finally did fall asleep, she would come to him in dreams, leaving him empty and aching when he woke again, bereft to find her gone.

Each day he told himself that
today
would be the end of his need for her, that he would outlast these cravings and free himself from her hold if only he gave it a little more time.

He considered taking other women to his bed, figuring that if he bedded enough females, one of them would surely succeed in driving Esme from his mind. But every time he was on the verge of saying yes to the overtures of some willing doxy, he would turn her away. He’d given Esme his word that he would be faithful to
her, and he could not break it. But even if he no longer cared whether he violated his promise, he knew deep down there was a far greater deterrent and that was the simple fact that he didn’t want another woman.

The damned truth of it was that he wanted his wife.

He wanted Esme.

Tossing the newspaper aside, he reached for his cup of coffee, only to put it down again when he realized it had turned cold.

Blast, she is driving me mad.

Only think how his friends would laugh if they knew that he, a man reputed to be one of the most heartless rakehells in all of London, had been brought to this state—ensnared in a paroxysm of lust and longing, and all for his own wife!

Not that he couldn’t have her if he wanted. All he needed to do was return to Ten Elms and take his fill.

Come to think, maybe that was exactly what he should do.

Christmas was coming soon, true, and it was possible she might already have left for Braebourne to spend the holiday with her family. Then again, if he departed now, maybe he could catch her while she was still at Ten Elms. After all, Christmas would serve as a perfectly reasonable excuse for his return to the estate.

There was also the fact that she was not yet with child. The begetting of an heir provided him with yet another sound reason to return to her bed. If she balked—and she might, given the abrupt manner in which he’d left her—he could always remind her that as his wife, she was obligated to give him progeny.

Perhaps if he were very lucky, it would take months to get her pregnant. Only imagine all the days and nights he would have to satisfy his needs. And maybe, if he took his time and regulated his appetites, he would finally be able to satiate his unwanted obsession with her once and for all.

He’d just pushed back his chair and risen to his feet when he heard an odd commotion coming from the
front of the house that included what sounded like several barking dogs and meowing cats, of all things.

He went out into the corridor to investigate.

“Do be careful with them,” Esme said over a fresh round of yips, barks and meows. There appeared to be—one, two, three, four dogs, if his count was correct. He recognized Burr, but the rest were new, to him at least, the small pack running hither and thither around the entrance hall, tails wagging with unfettered excitement. There also seemed to be more than one cat, each confined inside its own basket.

“They are generally very well behaved, but the trip has unsettled them,” Esme informed Pike, his usually stoic butler, and one of the footmen, who both looked as if hell had just been unleashed upon them.

Gabriel didn’t entirely disagree.

“Pray take the cats upstairs, open their baskets, and let them be quiet for a while. Oh, and be sure to close the doors. I don’t want them running loose in the house and disappearing somewhere before they have time to acclimate. David can help you.”

David, whom Gabriel recognized as one of the footmen from Ten Elms, stepped forward. In the servant’s hands were a pair of baskets. The third basket waited on the marble floor. Inside was a short-haired black cat with one green eye, which was currently peering with suspicion through the wicker.

“Not to worry, my lady. I’ll see to it they’re settled,” David said. He looked at the other servants. “If one of you could show me the way?”

Pike regained his usual stalwart composure. “Your pardon, madam, but who are you precisely?”

Esme’s eyes rounded and she opened her mouth.

But before she could reply, Gabriel stepped forward. “This is Lady Northcote, your new mistress. Esme, meet Pike, my butler, and Nathan, one of the footmen.”

For the second time in one day, Pike’s imperturbable exterior cracked ever so slightly around the edges. He
recovered so quickly, however, that the slip was all but unnoticeable.

Pike bowed. “My lady, it is an honor. Forgive me for not realizing immediately who you were.”

Esme smiled, her generous nature allowing her to instantly forgive. Gabriel wondered if she would be quite so generous with him.

“That is quite all right,” she said. “Usually it is Lord Northcote who discomposes the servants with his untimely arrival, but it would seem to be my turn this time.”

At just that moment, as if the animal had only then noticed him, Burr bolted toward Gabriel, his canine nails clicking on the floor. The dog let out a happy howl, his entire body quivering with overwhelming excitement. Gabriel reached down automatically to pet the ecstatic dog, smiling at the exuberance of the greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been so thrilled to see him. He didn’t even mind the mass of dog hair being transferred to his trouser legs.

“How are you, boy?” he said. “It’s good to see you too. Oh, you’re a good dog, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

The dog gave a delighted bark and wiggled harder while the servants looked on with obvious bemusement. Because, for all his notoriously wild ways and past peccadilloes, Gabriel knew he had never been the sort to engage in open displays of affection.

“He’s missed you,” Esme remarked, drawing off her gloves as she walked forward.

Gabriel glanced up and found himself unable to look away, struck by her fresh, guileless charm and radiant beauty. She was simply effervescent; it was as if a sweet
spring breeze had just blown into the house and back into his life.

“What about you?” he said softly before he thought better of it. “Have you missed me too?”

She met his gaze, her eyes intensely blue. “If I have, you will find I am not nearly as demonstrative with my affection as Burr.”

Inwardly, he winced. Then again, he supposed it was only to be expected considering the way he’d treated her of late.

She turned her head. “Pike?”

“Yes, milady?”

“I should like a pot of tea if it could be managed and something to eat. I presume my rooms will need to be readied, so I will take it down here while I wait.”

“Serve in the library,” Gabriel told the other man. “It will be more comfortable than the drawing room. And inform the chef that her ladyship doesn’t eat meat, though cheese, eggs and milk are welcome.”

If Pike found this last instruction unusual, he didn’t show it, merely nodded and went to make the proper arrangements.

Suddenly they were alone, except for the dogs, of course, who trailed after them like a small furry entourage.

“What are you doing here, Esme?” Gabriel asked as he led her across the foyer and down a corridor toward the library. “You sent no word that you were coming. Is something amiss at Ten Elms?”

“Not precisely. I thought it would be easier if I just came ahead. You’re not the only one who can be full of surprises.”

“Apparently not. And what do you mean by ‘not precisely’?”

“I’ll tell you after I eat.”

He preceded her into the library only to turn back moments later when he realized that she had come to a full stop not far from the entrance.

“Gracious,” she murmured.

Her eyes were fixed on a large oil painting that was prominently displayed on a central wall, one of the few, that is, not taken up by the shelves and shelves of books that lined the entire room. But it wasn’t the painting so much as the subject matter that had undoubtedly solicited her remark.

He looked at the artwork and its depiction of a scene from ancient myth. Naked nymphs and satyrs cavorted around a lake while Bacchus and several equally unclothed handmaidens drank wine and frolicked with the god as he sat on his throne. There was a great deal of sexual imagery in the trees, plants and wildlife as well, if one chose to pay close attention.

The painting had entirely slipped his mind when he’d decided to bring Esme into the library. Ladies, at least not the proper sort, weren’t generally in the habit of visiting his town house. Since the day he’d taken possession of Landsdowne House, it had been a bachelor’s residence. But no more, he supposed, now that he was married. Esme might even want to rearrange some of the art displayed in the more public areas of the house in order to protect the delicate sensibilities of her female family and friends. Presuming she would be staying here more than a few days, that was, which was a matter that had yet to be decided.

“I presume this is part of your erotic art collection?” she mused aloud. “It is most beautifully done; only look at the masterful brushwork and the lush, luminous colors. Curiously enough, it reminds me of Boucher, though I suppose it was done by a less well-known artist.”

He lifted a brow. “I am impressed, madam, since Boucher is exactly who painted the work. You do indeed know your art. The provenance says he did this painting as a private commission for a wealthy, anonymous patron. I acquired it at an equally private auction a few years ago and have enjoyed viewing it ever since.”

“Well, if this painting is representative of your collection, I would guess that all the works must have
scandalous, clandestine origins due to the lurid nature of the subject matter.”

“Actually, this is one of the less provocative pieces,” he informed her. “The majority of my collection is housed in a separate gallery devoted strictly to erotic art and literature. A couple of the maids won’t even go inside to clean.”

Esme turned her gaze on him. “Is it really that bad?”

“Or that good, depending on your point of view.” He grinned. “I’ll show it to you sometime, if you’d like. After all, you are an art lover. Come to think, perhaps I should frame the naked sketch you did of me and add it to the collection. Or would you prefer to keep it and hang it on your bedroom wall?”

“I believe I will leave it exactly where it is, else the entire house know what you look like without clothing. Although knowing you, you’d likely be as proud as Bacchus here, and every bit as shameless.”

His grin widened. “Yes, but only because certain parts of me actually do rival the gods.”

A faint dusting of pink trailed up her neck and into her cheeks.

He laughed, then nearly groaned as a sudden rush of desire flooded through him. He was just about to reach for her when Pike arrived, the tea tray in his hands.

“Oh good,” she said, moving away, “I am famished.”

Slightly disgruntled, Gabriel followed her over to a comfortable grouping of chairs and sofas and took a seat. The dogs clustered around her—two coal black Scotties with impish gleams in their eyes and a rather elderly looking brindle spaniel who put his paws on the sofa and silently begged to come up. Esme happily complied, reaching down to lift the old dog onto the sofa, where he curled into a contented ball against her hip.

While she rinsed and dried her hands with the water and towel Pike had brought, Burr sidled over to Gabriel, his flag of a tail waving as usual. The dog sat, then laid
his head on Gabriel’s knee, looking up at him with unbridled devotion.