The Courtesan's Daughter (36 page)

Twenty-eight

THEY arrived back at Dalby House without further conversation. Of course, that was likely because her breasts had captured what little attention a man had to begin with. Honestly. Uncle John seemed to find the whole thing far more amusing than it actually was, which is to say, it was not amusing in the least. Nevertheless, he kept nodding his dark head and grunting. Almost prostrate with laughter, he was.

Caro was never so glad to get out of a carriage in her life, and considering the past few days, that was saying quite a lot.

Ashdon followed her up the few steps to the front door and whispered as Freddy opened the door, “
Now
will you wear a fichu?”

Odious wretch.

Sophia came into the foyer as they entered and, upon seeing Ashdon in his dirt-smeared, bloodstained state, said sweetly, “Oh, I see you’ve met my brother.”

“Yes,” Ashdon said, handing his coat to Freddy while he buttoned his waistcoat, “always nice to meet the in-laws.”

“Isn’t it though?” Sophia said as Lord Westlin came into the foyer behind her, followed by Lord Staverton. Was there anyone who
wasn’t
going to come out of the white salon?

In point of fact, Markham came down the hall from the dining room, where she was quite certain the sideboard had yet to be repaired from the day’s earlier adventure. Her wedding day was now made complete.

Filth and inappropriate attire notwithstanding, Caro threw herself into Markham’s arms and lost herself there. It had been months since they’d seen each other and, as troublesome as he could often be, she adored him. She had known since the age of two that he returned the emotion entirely. As well he should. She was a wonderful sister to him.

“You set them on me, didn’t you?” Markham said into her hair. “I ought to thrash you, but you look like you’ve been thrashed already today.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” she said into his cravat. “And if I did wish to discuss it, I would say that you entirely deserved to be set upon as you should have been applying yourself at Oxford and not on the streets of Paris.”

“First one, then the other,” Markham said, pulling her back from him and searching the throng behind them. “No need to ask which one is Lord Ashdon. He looks even more thrashed than you. Uncle John’s work?”

“And the boys. He doesn’t appear to mind, though, so I shan’t mind either.”

“Clever girl.”

“I like to think so.”

“And all this other I’ve been hearing about since I’ve been hauled back to hearth and home? Where is the logic in that, Caro? It doesn’t sound at all like you, and that’s just from what I could get out of Anne. Anne wouldn’t mouth a word against you and Mother wouldn’t speak of it at all, which only put me on the scent rather more vigorously, wouldn’t it?”

“Freddy, I suppose,” she said, sighing and straightening her hair.

“Naturally. But what’s to be done now? He’s married you, so that’s settled, but is he worthy of you?”

“Is anyone?” she said sarcastically.

“Probably not,” he said with a grin.

“You are such a brother,” she said, turning to look back into the heart of the foyer. Ashdon appeared rather more damaged in the light of a dozen candles, and more grim. Again. Where was the man who had teased her about her fichu?

Lord Westlin had taken one look at the assemblie in the foyer and retreated back into the white salon. Unsociable sot. It certainly wasn’t going to be pleasant having to deal with Lord Westlin on a regular basis; it was a good thing she was as levelheaded and unflappable as she was or things might come to a nasty head.

Uncle John and his sons did not look more civilized in the white candlelight. John’s features were hard and chiseled, his skin dark, his hair actually a dark brown where Sophia’s was black, but his was straight as a stick. He had a look to him that spoke of wildness and wilderness.

George, his eldest son, had John’s nose and mouth and brow, but softened. His black hair was waved, as hers was, and he had a long dimple in his left cheek that did nothing to detract from his raw masculinity.

John the Younger was the tallest and leanest of them all, his skin the fairest, his dark brown hair lit with faint gold lights. Young had the thick brows and long nose the boys all shared and looked, oddly enough, more like Markham than any of them, including her.

Matthew, still growing vigorously, had pale blue eyes. They were his grandmother’s eyes and he was the only one of all of them to get them. Paired with his olive skin and black hair, he was a boy growing rapidly into a strikingly handsome man.

Though at the moment they were all somewhat tumbled as a result of their tussle with Ashdon and because they had run in that peculiar long lope of theirs behind the landau on the way to Hyde Park. Markham, however, looked resplendent in his fawn breeches and dark blue coat. The coat was exquisitely cut and fit Markham to perfection.

“Did you get that coat in Paris?” she asked.

“I did,” he said proudly. “Won it in a game of whist, had to have it altered a bit, but isn’t it a fine bit of cloth?”

“Gambling,” she said on a huff of angry air. “Is there any reason to gamble for a coat when you have the funds to buy a perfectly lovely coat yourself? One that would be made to fit?”

“Of course there’s a reason,” he said, his dark eyes shining. “I always have a reason for what I do. It’s fun, that’s why. You must learn to find the fun in things, Caro.”

“Oh, must I? It’s a bit late for me now, isn’t it?”

“Because of Ashdon? ” Markham said, looking down the hall at his new brother by marriage. “Isn’t he any fun at all?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him fun.” Though being thrown onto the sideboard like a trifle and being sampled for his pleasure had been … memorable. She could feel her nipples harden and her breasts grow heavy just thinking of it. Caro took few steps away from the dining room door, forcing Markham to keep step with her.

“Like his father, then? All growl and spittle?”

Caro reared her head back and pushed against his arm. “He is
not
like his father! That is not at all what I said.”

“No?” Markham said innocently. “What did you say, then? You don’t mean that you actually
like
him, do you, Caro? That could prove rather awkward, having a
tendre
for one’s husband. I know Mother did it, but she makes her own fashion, doesn’t she? I’m not at all certain you can pull it off.”

“Did I
say
I felt anything for Ashdon?”

“No,” he said softly, wrapping an arm about her waist, “but some things are so obvious they don’t need to be said.”

Oh, dear
. This was bad, very bad. A sophisticated woman of her stature did
not
go about with her most vulnerable and private emotions on her face, or anywhere else for that matter. It simply wasn’t done.

“You make the most unwelcome comments, Mark. Did you know that?”

“Of course. It’s a good thing that I’m so handsome or no one would forgive me anything. But I am handsome, particularly in my new coat, and therefore I am forgiven everything. Mother has even given over being angry about my jaunt to Paris. I think the coat turned her head,” Markham whispered conspiratorially.

She barely heard him. Ashdon, rather the worse for wear, turned to stare at her from down the wide hallway that separated them. He was still bleeding, his shirt sporting a damp, red patch. He had a bruise coming up on his left eye and his knuckles were scraped raw. He looked absolutely horrible, and never more wonderful.

“Has Mother planned on dinner for all of us?” she asked, staring at Ash, filling her eyes with the sight of him. He looked uncommonly rugged, and her heart was doing strange things in her chest.

“Yes, including Lord Westlin, if he’ll stay. She’s more than a little determined to bring him into the family fold, which I suppose is appropriate now that he’s family. I don’t know that I like having him about, given their history. You have no idea what it’s like to have a mother who, well … who …”

“Oh, don’t I? ” she said, watching as Ashdon took his coat from Freddy and slipped it on, covering the bloody patch on his shirt, as well as covering the line of his shoulders and chest and arms.

“It’s different for a man, a son,” Markham said, flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve.

“Different does not mean worse. Believe me,” she said. “So, I suppose I shall need to change for dinner. And Ashdon can’t go into a meal looking as he does.” Even though he looked slightly more irresistible than usual. “Could he borrow something of yours, Mark? You’re of a size.”

Markham sighed heavily. “I suppose I must. Where are you staying, by the by? Not here.”

“It hasn’t been decided yet,” she said, moving down the hallway toward Ashdon, drawn almost magnetically, as it were. Her heart was doing very strange things as she studied the open line of his linen shirt and the taut flesh revealed in the gap. Very strange things, indeed. “We really haven’t had the time to discuss it.”

“Really? You’ve had all day.”

“Yes, well,” she said, fussing with her sleeve. “It’s been a busy day. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Markham said, looking down at her altogether too curiously. Anyone would think he was trying to read her thoughts. It was a good thing he couldn’t because her thoughts were all of Ashdon and the broken sideboard in the dining room. “I couldn’t help notice that the sideboard has lost a leg, torn clean off by the look of it. Two footmen were hauling it out of the room just as you arrived home. What happened to it?”

Caro sniffed regally and said, “Something landed on it rather awkwardly, I was told.”

“What sort of something?” Markham said.

The answer came to her instantly. She really did think that she was making vast strides in becoming sophisticated as measured by the ease with which she could tell a profitable lie.

“One of the cats. That fat tiger cat that’s always in the kitchen. Horrid thing was after the ham.”

Markham’s dark eyebrows lifted. “He must be fat if he can break a solid mahogany leg.”

“He’s not fat!” Caro said. “He just … landed awkwardly.”

“So you’ve said,” Markham answered, studying her rather more closely than she liked.

“Then I presume there’s nothing more to say on the matter,” she said. “I must dress for dinner, Markham. Would you care to meet Ashdon now or after he’s wearing your clothes?”

“Since you put it that way, I should think now would be best.”

“Then behave yourself, Mark. Don’t make a fuss. He’s only my husband.”

“Only your husband,” Markham said. “Yes, that has a calming effect.”

Sophia was talking to Ash as they approached. “We simply must convince your father to stay to dine with us. A simple family affair, obviously, with the most simple of foods. It would appear most peculiar if he did
not
stay, don’t you agree, Lord Ashdon? You’ll talk to him, of course.”

“Of course,” Ash answered, looking not at all agreeable to the idea. In fact, he looked a trifle pale.

“Mother, I simply must get Ashdon up to my room. He’s had a rigorous afternoon and requires attention. Oh, and this is my brother, the Earl of Dalby. Markham, my husband, Lord Ashdon. There, now that’s done, we’ll just disappear upstairs for a moment or two. I really should look at Ashdon’s wound. You do know that Uncle John attacked him without cause, don’t you?”

“Nonsense, Caro. John never attacks anyone without cause. It’s something of a point of honor for him,” Sophia said. “I’m quite certain Lord Ashdon provoked him outrageously.”

“If I did, I fail to see how,” Ashdon said grimly. Darling Ashdon, always going grim when crossed. It was slightly adorable.

“You were chasing after my niece,” John said. “What could I do but thrash you for it?”

Ashdon’s eyes widened. “You speak English? When you said you did not?”

“It is not necessary for everyone to know everything,” John said, his dark eyes twinkling.

“How utterly true,” Sophia said with a sly smile. “But Caro, were you truly running down Park Lane? And was Lord Ashdon truly chasing you?”

Caro could only nod. She couldn’t believe she’d done it now, of course. It was highly illogical to run from one’s husband, particularly down a public street. Particularly as he could run faster than she could. A complete waste of time, really.

“How delicious,” Sophia said, grinning, “and how clever of you, darling.”

“Clever?” she said.

She had just deduced that it had been a colossal mistake in judgment. Her mother was always saying something to confuse her knowledge of things. Thinking logically was so very complicated when her mother was around, constantly offering advice and comment on the most mundane of subjects. Like running down the street away from an enraged husband.

“How clever of you to understand that there is simply nothing a man enjoys more than chasing after things, especially a woman. Isn’t that so, Lord Ashdon?”

“I’ve never run down a woman in my life,” Ash said stiffly.

“But now you have, and wasn’t it fun?” Sophia said with a smile.

Ash allowed a crooked smile to escape him as he said, “Tolerably.”

Caro almost fell out of her shoes.

“Excuse us,” Ash said, taking her arm in his hand. “My wife is exhausted from her exertions. We’ll just go upstairs for a bit.” And he led her, quite authoritatively, from the foyer to the stair hall.

She shivered at his touch. It was his first touch since she’d kneed him, which had resulted in him chasing her. Which had then resulted in his being knifed by her uncle and beaten by her cousins. Quite a memorable wedding day, even without the sideboard.

“And now I have you,” Ash said softly as he tugged her up the switchback stairs. Her stomach clenched in a not altogether unpleasant sensation.

He might try to punish her for that well-placed knee in his groin.