Married to the Viscount (44 page)

As soon as he was announced, he ran into Blakely and Clara very near the entrance. “Have you seen my wife?” he asked them without preamble.

“She’s on the dance floor,” Blakely answered. “With His Majesty.”

Spencer turned to look, and his heart caught in his throat. Abby was a vision of loveliness tonight. Gone was the awkward American, gone the faux Englishwoman. All that remained was his beautiful wild rose.

Somehow she managed to fit in and stand out at the same time. Her dancing was perfectly accomplished, all that any king could expect. But unlike the stiff and elegant ladies around her, she looked as if she was actually having fun. Her gown was like all of theirs, but her hair was swept up in that seductively loose coiffure, and her skin glowed richly golden under the candles. Next to the tight curls and white faces of
the other young misses, she shone like a rose among daisies. He could hardly contain his pride.

“How long have they been dancing?” he asked Lady Clara.

“This is actually their second dance. They danced a waltz together first. It appears that His Majesty has taken a fancy to your wife.”

Eyes narrowing, Spencer observed the adoring gaze of Abby’s dance partner and then scowled. Spencer had a little surprise for His Majesty. Abigail Law, the Viscountess Ravenswood, would never be that scoundrel’s conquest. “Who introduced them?”

“Lady Brumley.” Clara added archly, “You weren’t here, after all.”

No doubt Clara remembered his behaving like an ass at the marchioness’s breakfast. “I can see I’ll have to have a long talk with Lady Brumley about my wife. Since they’re going to be partnered in business and all.”

Clara gave a small smile, but her husband looked less sanguine. “Er…Ravenswood…your brother happened to mention something in your wife’s hearing—”

“I know. Nat met me outside and told me.”

“You’re not worried?”

“I’m not worried.” Or at least he didn’t think he was. “How long is this quadrille anyway?”

“It’s almost over. But I’d move in quickly, if I were you. His Majesty has made his intentions fairly clear.”

Spencer nodded grimly. “Then I shall have to make my intentions even clearer.”

The music ended, and Spencer started off toward the other end of the room. But through the crowd that hindered any quick movement, he saw the king leading his wife out the open doors to one of the balconies.

Spencer quickened his pace. If that lecherous sot thought
he was going to lay one hand on Abby, he was in for a bloody surprise.

After he burst through the doors and onto the balcony, it took him a moment to find them. They stood at the far corner of the balcony side by side, looking up at the sky.

He overheard Abby say in a carrying voice, “Are you sure the fireworks are going to be set off now, Your Majesty? I heard earlier that it wouldn’t happen before midnight.”

“I do believe you’re right,” the king retorted. When Abby half turned as if to leave, the king laid his hand on her waist and urged her back to his side. “But the stars are so brilliant tonight, surely you don’t mind keeping me company while I look at them.”

With a scowl, Spencer increased his pace. Killing the king would constitute treason, but perhaps he could get away with maiming the bastard—

“I would be honored,” Abby answered, though she reached back and removed the hand His Majesty had rested in the small of her back.

Spencer smiled. Until His Majesty merely returned his hand to her waist.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Spencer said as he neared them, hoping he didn’t sound as furious as he felt.

Abby’s heart sank into her stomach at the sound of Spencer’s voice. Swiftly she turned to find him standing nearby, feet apart, scowl in place, and a clear look of murder in his eyes.

Oh, dear, this couldn’t be good. “You’re here, my lord!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see that you arrived safely. Your Majesty, if you would excuse me—”

“Not yet,” His Majesty said, tightening his grip on her waist.

Wonderful. She’d managed to preserve Spencer’s career through the waltz and the quadrille and it was now to be felled because of His Majesty’s apparent death wish.

Then Spencer surprised her by inclining his head in a sketchy bow. “Your Majesty,” Spencer said smoothly. “Thank you for keeping my wife company, but now I would very much like to dance with her.”

The words weren’t a request, no matter how courteously they were worded, and the king apparently knew it, for his hand continued to grip her with surprising strength for a man of his age and girth. “I swear, Ravenswood, you are even cooler a one than I thought. Don’t you care about your wife enough to show concern when she’s alone with another man?”

What a fine idea, Your Majesty. Provoke my mad husband. That will certainly help matters
.

But though Spencer’s eyes glittered, when he glanced to her he smiled. “It’s precisely because I care that I’m not concerned. You see, I trust my wife implicitly.” His gaze locked with hers. “She would never shame or betray me.”
Or leave me
, his eyes seemed to say. “She’s too much a woman of character for that.”

Abby’s heart swelled in her throat, threatening to choke off all her breath. Her love. At last he really was her love.

If not for the king’s restraining hand, she would toss herself at Spencer like a shameless wanton. “Thank you, my lord.” She cast the king a pleading glance. “If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, I haven’t seen my husband in two days…”

King George eyed them both closely, then sighed. “Apparently Lady Brumley was correct in her assessment of your match, though I doubted it myself. Go on, my dear lady. Enjoy your dance with your husband.” His hand left her waist. “And thank you for the bottle of scent. I’ll think of you fondly whenever I smell it.”

Spencer’s eyes flared dangerously, so she murmured some inane response and hastened to meet him. But as he took her arm, he didn’t lead her back inside. Instead he steered her toward the steps at the far end that led into the garden.

As soon as she could be sure they were out of the king’s earshot, she whispered, “Heavens, you gave me a scare. I thought for sure you were going to say or do something to the king that would wreck your political future forever.”

“Something like, ‘Touch my wife again, you lecherous goat, and I’ll personally remove your crown jewels with a carving knife?’”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat. “Something like that.”

“I thought about it. And not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust him. Bloody old sot can’t keep his hands to himself—he ought to be ashamed.”

“Well, I for one am glad you didn’t speak your mind, even if I do find the idea of you chained in the Tower vastly appealing.”

“Do you?” Spencer drew her beneath some trees, then faced her. His gaze looked uncertain as it met hers. “Is that because you want so desperately to see me receive my well-deserved punishment for all my controlling and arrogant ways?”

“That’s part of it.” As she tilted her face up to him, she watched him carefully. “And I like the idea of your being at my complete mercy.”

“Very well.” Taking her by surprise, he dropped to his knees and seized her hands. “You said I never beg. So I’m begging now. Stay with me, Abby, and be my wife.”

Her pulse quickened as she stared down into his earnest and infinitely dear face. “Nat told me you went to the foundling hospital on your way here. Does that mean what I think it does?”

“That I love you? That I want you to raise our children?”

“Our foundling children?” she prodded.

“And whatever others you manage to acquire. It seems that my assumptions about my ability to sire children might have been faulty.”

For a moment, her heart lurched. “What if they’re not?”

He cast her a solemn look. “Whether you bear me ten or none, whether we adopt foundlings or Clara’s pickpockets or the first urchin you stumble upon in the street, it is all the same to me. I want you as my wife.”

“Forever?” she said, wanting to be sure.

“Until death do us part. Which I fervently pray won’t be anytime soon.”

Unable to control her joy a moment longer, she leaned down to kiss him hard on the lips, then murmured, “About wanting to see you chained in the Tower—did I happen to mention that I’d want you chained naked?”

A second passed during which his expression of surprise was almost comical. Then he leaped up to wrap her in his arms so tightly he lifted her right off the ground. As his mouth crashed down on hers in a stormy kiss, she thought,
At last the thunder god is mine
.

When he drew back, after plundering her mouth for what seemed like an eternity, she whispered, “What made you change your mind?”

“You’re joking, right? Faced with the possibility of life without you, do you really think I’d be fool enough to let you go?”

“You said you would.”

“I know. I was being my usual manipulative self, determined to have everything my way, just as you said. It’s a bad habit I’ve developed over the years. But it’s one I intend to break.”

How could she not kiss him again after such a wonderful pronouncement? And this kiss lasted longer and was hotter, too. By the time they were finished, he’d pushed her against the tree and was already fumbling for the buttons at the back of her dress.

“Spencer!” she protested weakly. “Someone might see us.”

“Nonsense. Why do you think they keep the gardens so dimly lit at these affairs?”

“To save on lantern oil?” She sucked in a breath as her bodice gave way.

“To reward randy husbands whose wives have just forgiven them.” He drew back. “You have forgiven me, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she teased as she unbuttoned his waistcoat. Wondering if he would mention his visit to Genevieve’s, she added, “I’ve forgiven you for everything that happened before you left. But have you done anything since that I need to forgive you for?”

“No.” At her scowl, he added, “Surely you don’t mean my visit to Genevieve’s. Nat said he told you why I went, and I don’t see anything in that to forgive.”

“Don’t you?” she teased, then realized what he’d said. “Wait a minute, you talked to Nathaniel after you arrived?” Suddenly, all her words came back to her, and she groaned. “Oh, no, he told you—”

“It’s all right. I guessed fairly quickly what you were about. And I must say that you managed to do what I hadn’t been able to—instill some guilt in my reckless brother.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell him I was bamming him, did you?”

Spencer chuckled. “And ruin your little revenge? Not on your life.” He bent his head to kiss her cheek and then her neck, and the blood roared in her ears.

“So,” she whispered while she still had the power of speech, “how long do you think we should wait before we tell him the truth?”

“Since he’s eloping with Evelina even as we speak, we’ll have to wait at least two weeks until they return.” He edged her gown off her shoulders. “And after that, oh, I don’t know. A while longer while we disappear.”

“Why are we disappearing?”

“For our honeymoon trip, of course.” He nibbled her ear. “We have to celebrate the end of our pretend marriage and
the beginning of the real one. So that would be what—two more weeks? A month? Any longer, and Nat might figure out what we’re up to. We wouldn’t want that.”

He started to kiss her, but she pulled back to stare at him. “Why, Spencer Law, I do believe you can be mischievous after all.”

He grinned. “I’m learning, my love,” he said as he drew her back into his arms and bent his mouth to hers. “I’m learning.”

Epilogue

The arrival of children to one’s employer brings additional work, it is true. But it also brings additional joy.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

S
pencer sat in the hall, dandling Belinda on his knee and trying not to worry while Dr. Godfrey examined his wife in their bedchamber. He forced himself to focus on his baby daughter’s pretty black eyes regarding him with pure adoration. She’d certainly filled out nicely since she’d left the foundling hospital last year as a scrawny and too solemn mite.

“Da,” she said, wrapping one chubby fist in his cravat to tug it all askew. “Da-da.”

He laughed. “Yes, my clever girl,” he said, bouncing her until she giggled. “It’s Da-da.” Hard to believe he’d once contemplated giving this up because of some foolish fears. His little Belle, as he liked to call her, was one of the lights of his life.

Another one came barreling up the stairs. Spencer bit back a smile as a huffing Mrs. McFee followed after his other daughter and grumbled under her breath with every step. He still couldn’t believe the proper McFee had married “that harridan of a servant.” Or that the man was now the author—
albeit an anonymous one—of a popular instructional guide for servants.

Lily, who never walked when she could run, raced up to him, not the least out of breath. “Papa, is the doctor still with Mama?”

“Yes, poppet.” A lump filled his throat at the sight of her anxious frown.

The former pickpocket was now eleven. He and Abby had scarcely been married a month when he’d suggested adopting the orphan. He’d never forgotten Lily’s sad little face that day in the drawing room when she’d talked about her dead mother.

Abby had agreed more readily to it than even he had expected. Which was a good thing, because last year he’d finally accepted that he couldn’t sire his own children. For a while Genevieve’s claims had given him hope, but after four years of marriage and no pregnancies, they’d both acknowledged that it was not meant to be. That’s when they’d adopted Belinda and started discussing how many other children they wanted and what to do about his heir.

He wasn’t getting any younger, after all. And Nat was even less inclined to be the heir now that he was happily engaged in running Abby’s perfume business and fathering his own two daughters. Ironically, under Evelina’s guiding influence the scoundrel had finally grown up enough to be a viable heir. Yet that very taste of responsibility had made him even more adamant about going his own way.