Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (26 page)

She nodded, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t. When had he come to read her so well? In the Crimea? Was there a part of him that while he didn’t remember her, still knew her?

Or was it simply the closeness that had developed over the past few weeks?

He knew the nights when bad dreams stirred within her, and he calmed them by holding her near and whispering reassurances in her ear before she ever awakened. He knew how much she ate when she was happy, and how little when she was distracted with worries.

He suddenly felt as though he had nothing in common with these people. He didn’t know the people about whom they spoke. Emily would have her first Season come summer and she was rattling off the names of the girls who would be joining her on the marriage market. He’d never heard of any of them. Or if he had, he didn’t remember them. When the deuce had the girl grown up?

He’d not seen Lynnford’s family since his return, and he’d been so distracted watching for Mercy’s reaction upon their arrival that he’d paid little attention to the other guests. But now he could see that they were all considerably older. Two years, he supposed. What a difference it could make. Once again he was hit with all he’d somehow lost.

But then he glanced over at Mercy and realized all that he’d gained. He’d known her such a short while, but he couldn’t envision his life without her smiles and laughter. Without her conversations.

Still, he was grateful that the meal was fairly brief. The ladies went off to finish preparing the boxes of clothing they would deliver to the poor the day after Christmas. Stephen found himself joining the men in the billiards room for a spot of brandy. He didn’t know why he was surprised that Lynnford’s sons joined them. Two years. The boys were men now.

“I’m thinking of joining a regiment,” Charles suddenly blurted, his gaze falling on Stephen as though he were seeking praise or perhaps confirmation that it was a wise move.

Standing by the fireplace, his arm on the mantel, Stephen didn’t glance around the room, but he could feel other eyes come to bear on him—Lynnford’s especially. As well as Ainsley’s. “You might want to wait until this bit in the Crimea is over,” he finally said quietly.

“Austria has stepped in to help negotiate a peace,” Mallard said. “They expect it to all be resolved by spring.”

“There will no doubt be another battle to be fought somewhere,” Lynnford said laconically to his son.

“You’re not in favor of his joining up?” Ainsley asked Lynnford.

“I think his mother needs him near right now.”

Charles sat back with a grumble, and Stephen nearly laughed. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who took issue with Lynnford’s controlling ways. He swirled the brandy in his snifter, wondering if he would ever again feel as though he belonged with these people. He had a strong urge to find Mercy. It seemed as though it had been hours since dinner, since he’d had her at his side, but when he glanced at the clock, he saw that it had not been even half an hour.

Ainsley ambled over. “Would you care to join me in a game of billiards?”

“I need to speak with you about Roseglenn.”

He seemed taken aback. “Did you find something amiss?”

“No. Which is my point. You didn’t neglect it.”

“I believe I said I hardly have time for it. Only you would complain because it is in working order.”

“I want to feel useful, Ainsley.”

“You are. It takes a weight off my shoulders to know it is in your hands.”

Stephen scoffed. “It practically manages itself.”

“Then spend the time you’re not looking after it with your wife.”

Speaking of his wife—the ladies chose that moment to rejoin them. Mercy appeared more relaxed. No doubt doing something that would help others had appealed to her giving nature. Stephen downed his brandy, set the snifter aside, and walked over to his wife, taking her hand, feeling a calmness settle over him as her fingers intertwined with his.

“You enjoyed your visit with the ladies.”

She smiled up at him. “I did. I like Claire a good deal.”

“She has always managed to charm.”

They soon found themselves in the grand salon, where Charlotte entertained them on the pianoforte. Stephen sat on the arm of a chair, his arm around Mercy’s shoulders. For the occasion she’d donned a dark green gown that brought out her best features, her eyes, her hair, the tilt of her nose. Even her freckles seemed to have emerged for the holidays, although he suspected she’d not be pleased to hear that. He had a strong urge to remove the pins and the pearl clasp that held the strands of her hair in place.

Then Charlotte began to sing
Silent Night
, and he saw the sorrow sweep over Mercy’s features. He tucked his finger beneath her chin and turned her toward him. Without words, with merely a nod of his head toward the doorway, he indicated they should quit the room. Quietly, she followed him out. He waited until they reached another gallery. The walls were home to paintings by the masters. No family portraits here. He wasn’t certain why, but he preferred this gallery.

“They predict the war will be over come spring,” he said quietly.

Her fingers flinched where they rested on his arm. “I indeed hope so.”

“Is it difficult for you to be here?”

She peered up at him. “I simply have little in common with these people.”

“I feel the same way—which is odd since I can’t remember what makes me so different.”

“I thought returning here might . . . cause you to remember.”

He led her over to the window. “There is the terrace where I had tea with Claire. I remember the taste of the tea: Earl Grey. I remember the fragrance of the fall blooms.” It was visible because torches lined the garden path, as though someone might wish to stroll about in the brisk night air. “She was already married to Westcliffe. She’d had a . . . mishap. We thought she was going to die. He thought she wanted me, but she loved him. I remember telling her that I would be leaving England. But I don’t remember leaving here. I still find it all remarkably strange, that my mind refuses to cooperate. I was quite shocked to see that Lynnford’s brood had aged. His daughter will have a Season come spring. Did you have a Season?”

“No, my father is not so well off as that.”

“Do you miss him?”

A sadness touched her eyes. She moved in closer to him. “I don’t think about it. Just as I try not to think about those who are in the Crimea. Do you truly believe there will be peace soon?”

“I hope so.”

“As do I.”

Chapter 16

M
ercy awoke from an uneasy sleep. As much as she was glad to be visiting with Stephen’s family, appreciated how they welcomed her, she missed Roseglenn. She’d begun to think of it as her residence, her home.

Although her back was to Stephen’s chest, and her bottom was nestled in the curve of his hips, she knew he was awake because he was feathering his fingers lightly over her arm—as though he thought that faint action wouldn’t disturb her. She loved waking up to find herself cradled by his body.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “What time will they be expecting us?”

“Mother said something about opening gifts after breakfast, but I thought”—he slid an oblong package wrapped in white up her pillow in front of her nose—“
before
we eat.”

Releasing a small squeal, she snatched it and sat up. Leaning down, she kissed him.

“You don’t know what it is yet. It might not be worthy of a kiss.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re worthy of a kiss.” She gave him another one, this time lingering, as his hand slid up her calf, up her thigh. Then he was pulling her beneath him. “No, wait!” She laughed. “I want to see what it is.”

Scooting back, she leaned against the pillow and slowly removed the paper, savoring the moment. Looking past the gift, she saw Stephen raised on an elbow, smiling as she’d never seen him, a warmth in his eyes. Joyous. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him look quite so relaxed and happy. At that moment, she didn’t know if she’d ever been happier.

The paper fell away to reveal a finely grained leather box. Cautiously she opened it to reveal a strand of pearls. “Oh, my goodness. They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have. They must have cost a fortune.”

Chuckling low, he slipped his hand beneath the pearls and removed them from the box. “Lean forward, so I can put them on you.”

Twisting around, she lifted her hair, wishing it was once again to her waist, for him. She would never cut it again. She heard the clasp
snick
into place and quickly scooted off the bed.

“Hold on there, where are you going?” he demanded.

“I want to see.” She rushed around the bed to the vanity and peered into the mirror. Enough light was coming around the edges of the draperies that she could see. She touched the pearls gently. “They’re perfect.”

“Not quite.”

She jerked around. He was lying against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, satisfaction in every line of his lithe body. Even with the scars he was magnificent.

“What is lacking?” she asked.

“More skin.” He nodded toward her. “Remove your nightdress.”

“You’re insatiable.” They’d made love before they went to sleep last night.

“Where you’re concerned, yes.”

She eased the nightdress off her shoulders, felt it slithering down her body as she began walking toward the bed. She stepped out of it in a fluid motion as it hit the floor, saw the heat immediately fill his eyes, and his body’s swift reaction which only served to warm her further.

“Come here,” he ordered, holding out his hand. “I want to make love to you wearing nothing but the pearls.”

“You want to wear the pearls?”

“You vixen,” he snarled, grabbing her, and pulling her onto the bed.

B
ecause it took Mercy longer to get ready for the day than it did Stephen, he’d left her and gone on to breakfast. When she was finally ready, in an emerald green gown for the holidays, she slipped down the stairs quietly. It had taken her so long, she wondered if he was in the parlor. He’d told her that he’d meet her there if he finished with breakfast before she joined him.

Peering into the room, she saw him partially bent over, examining something beneath the decorated tree. No doubt getting into mischief, searching for a gift for himself.

As quietly as a mouse, she tiptoed in, and when she was near enough, reached out and pinched his bum. “What are you”—he spun around and she gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth—“oh, my dear Lord!”

She found herself staring into the face of Lord Lynnford. She curtsied. “My lord, please forgive me. I mistook you . . . oh.” For my husband. No, she couldn’t say that.

He laughed. “It’s quite all right, my dear. The blond locks, I’m sure, confused you. Although from the front, I do have some gray showing up.”

The blond hair, the height, and the form. The way he stood, the way he moved. She shook her head. It made sense that Stephen would mimic the only man who had been in his life for any length of time. Because to consider anything else . . . that this man and the duchess . . . it was not possible.

“Again, my apologies.”

He bowed. “And again, no need to apologize. I’m glad to see that things are so . . . well between you and your husband.”

He gave her a knowing look and she felt the heat swarming her cheeks.

“I’m sorry we weren’t able to attend your wedding,” he said.

“No, that’s quite all right. We all understood. And it came about rather quickly and unexpectedly.”

“But you’re happy.”

“Extremely so. Yes.”

“And you knew Stephen in the Crimea.” He rubbed his jaw. “I heard Stephen was a remarkable soldier.”

“He was very courageous, yes. I did not know him on the battlefield, of course, only in hospital, but he always put the other men first.”

“I sometimes doubted he would ever grow up.”

“It must be very difficult to raise another man’s sons.”

He touched one of the presents, shifting it into another position. “Yes, it is.”

Yet she was raising another woman’s child. “But I could see where it would be easy to forget that they were not yours, and to love them as though they were.”

He smiled. “Indeed.”

“Ah, Lynnie, I see you got caught,” the duchess said as she waltzed into the room. “He has a habit of shaking the gifts. Most impatient, this man.” She patted his arm with a familiarity that spoke of doing so a thousand times. “Don’t you look lovely, my dear.”

Mercy curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace. I should probably find Stephen.”

“He finished with his breakfast and went for a walk with Westcliffe. You can probably catch sight of them from the terrace.”

“Thank you.” She nodded toward Lynnford. “My lord.”

“Mercy, it’s a pleasure to have you in the family.”

“I’m very happy to be here.”

Then she was bustling out before she said something else to get her in trouble. She made her way down the hallway to the door that opened on to the terrace and had just opened it when Stephen rounded the corner with Westcliffe. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen two brothers who looked so different. The thought running through her head, that the brothers did not in fact have the same father, was preposterous.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Stephen said, smiling at her. “It’s too cold for you to be out here without a wrap.”

“I just . . . I just wanted to see you.”

Opening the door, he drew her back inside. “Missed me, did you?”

Westcliffe stepped in after them. She felt a little self-conscious saying, “Very much so.”

He furrowed his brow. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I just . . . had an embarrassing encounter. I mistook Lynnford for you. I pinched him.”

Both brothers laughed, which served to only humiliate her further. She was grateful she’d not revealed exactly where she pinched him.

Finally, after their laughter died down, Stephen smiled broadly at her and said, “No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. I suspect he jolly well enjoyed the attention.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Claire,” Westcliffe said. “Lynnford is no doubt opening presents already.”

Mercy watched as Westcliffe strode down the hallway.

“What were you and Westcliffe doing?” she asked.

“Just looking over the grounds, reminiscing about childhood. Strange to find myself enjoying talking with him when we had so little in common growing up.”

“You seem close.”

“Not particularly, but we tolerate each other better.” He skimmed his finger along her chin. “Something is bothering you. What is it?”

“No, I . . . Lynnford and your mother seem to have quite an affection for each other.”

“He’s always been there for her.”

“Were they ever . . . lovers, do you think?”

“God, no, Lynnford is devoted to his countess.”

“Oh. That is unusual among the aristocracy, isn’t it?”

“The royal family is setting new expectations. They frown on promiscuity.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you striving to determine if I’ll be devoted to you?”

“No, I . . . I want your devotion, but ours is a forced marriage. Still, I am hopeful that you will come to care for me.”

He skimmed his fingers along her hair. “Well, then—”

“Stephen!” Emily cried. “Come along. Everyone is waiting to open presents.”

“Ah, then, we must not keep the family waiting,” Stephen said with an elaborate bow. He wrapped his arm around hers, and began escorting her to the parlor. “And what did you get me, wife?”

“You shall just have to wait and see,” she said teasingly.

I
t was a gold timepiece and chain.

“I noticed you didn’t have one,” Mercy said. “It seemed like the thing to pass down to your son.”

It was also a reminder, Stephen thought as he sat in a chair by the window and gazed out on the drive, that minutes ticked forward and not back, and that he needed to concentrate on the moments to come, not those that he couldn’t remember. She must have spent every farthing she possessed to purchase this for him.

“Now for my sons,” his mother said, handing small packages to him and his brothers.

In the chair beside him, Mercy looked on. His mother had given her a lovely lacy shawl, which she now wore draped over her shoulders. She still wore the pearl necklace, and he was half tempted to lead her back to bed, wearing it alone.

“Open it,” she demanded with impatience.

He did so and discovered a miniature of his mother, a perfect likeness. Leo was skilled with the brush. He handed it to Mercy that she might see it.

“Oh, he did a wonderful job,” she mused. She was holding John, who was gripping a wooden rattle that Ainsley had given him. He seemed quite fascinated by it, blinking in wonder each time it made a sound when he waved it around.

Stephen understood his son’s wonder. He was still amazed to find himself with a family. He glanced back out the window.

“What do you keep looking for?” she asked.

Grinning, he shook his head. “Oh, nothing.”

“You’re simply bored with opening presents?”

But he wasn’t going to tell her. He was waiting for another surprise to arrive.

“Leo, please fetch my gifts for my grandsons,” the duchess ordered.

Instantly he left, and returned pushing two contraptions that looked like boxes on wheels.

“What the deuce . . . ?” Stephen murmured.

“They’re perambulators,” his mother said. “So you can push the babies through the park. They’ve become quite popular of late.”

Claire, Mercy, and the other ladies went to inspect them.

“I’ve been thinking of getting one,” Claire said.

And Stephen wondered if Mercy had wanted one as well. He’d had no idea there was such a thing. He glanced over at Westcliffe, who seemed as baffled as he. Ainsley, standing by the fireplace, appeared bored. And he discovered Lynnford was watching him, although his gaze shifted away quickly enough.

Stephen glanced back out the window and saw the approach of the coach before he heard the horses and wheels bringing it nearer. Rising, he walked over to his wife and placed his hand on her waist. Smiling brightly, she looked up at him with such joy in her eyes.