Twice a Rake (38 page)

“I was so glad Sir Jonas made such a suggestion, too, since they are our near neighbors,” Aurora said. “I’ve wanted to make some acquaintances in the area, and he is helping to make that possible.” She took a sip from her glass and eyed Quin over the rim. “And of course, we had to invite your family.”

His family?
Damnation.
He’d string Jonas up to the great oak by his toes for interfering. The last thing he needed was for his mother to see what a mess he had made of his life. Quin shoveled in another mouthful of bread a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“Sir Jonas did tell me that Nia is a bit younger than the rest of our guests, and truly has not yet had her come-out. But that shouldn’t pose a problem for anyone, since he assures me she is a lovely young lady, and quite mature for her age. Besides, I could not bear the thought of having Sir Augustus and Lady Coulter here, but leaving your sister behind. Your
younger
sister. One you’ve yet to inform me of.” Aurora continued to prattle on, but Quin no longer heard her words.

He couldn’t allow this. The idea of his mother seeing him in this state was bad enough—but his step-father? And even worse, his sister? Nia couldn’t come. She couldn’t see him as he’d become. He had made a point since Nia’s birth to stay away from her, so she couldn’t be affected by his influence. She was better off staying in Sheffield, far from his debauched lifestyle. The fact that he was now married held no real significance.

He was an abysmal excuse for a husband, much as his father had been. He was an even worse excuse for a brother.

“I am so looking forward to meeting your family, Quin,” Aurora continued before he could formulate his thoughts. “Well, the rest of them, that is. I’ve already met Lord Rotheby, and I’ll be delighted to spend more time with him at our house party this summer of course. But I’m desperate to get to know your mother and your sister.”

Rotheby
? She had to be joking. His wife could not be serious. The last thing Quin needed was his grandfather peering over his morning papers to scrutinize his every little action and lecture him at every turn. “Aurora,” Quin said with a warning in his tone, “you have not truly sent Rotheby an invitation, have you? You do realize that his presence would tremendously try my patience. Not to mention my mother”

“Oh, dear,” Aurora said. “I am so terribly sorry, but the invitations have already gone out. There is nothing to be done for it at this point. You shall just have to prove yourself a patient man amidst rather trying conditions, won’t you?” She sat back in her chair with an increasingly smug smile.

So it had been her plan all along. What was she trying to prove? Quin glared at Jonas across the table. The baronet ought to have known better. Jonas knew Quin better than anyone else in the world. He should have recognized the trouble Aurora would be inviting and found a way to discourage her from something so foolhardy.

But, no matter. Her house party would end up a crashing bore, since she was rather more infamous than at the height of fashion at the moment. Most of her invited guests would never dare to accept. Hopefully Rotheby and his mother would follow suit.

Still, he ought to prepare himself for at least a couple of guests to arrive. “How soon did you say this would all take place?” he asked with as much patience as he could muster, gritting his teeth while he awaited Aurora’s response.

She smiled at him triumphantly. “In just over three weeks. The Season will be coming to an end, and I did not want them all to go rushing off somewhere else where we could not find them.”

Three weeks. He had three weeks to learn to keep his temper in check.

Bloody hell.

~ * ~

Perhaps married life would not be so monotonous and prosaic as she had imagined it after all. Certainly after their talk at the riverfront, Aurora had an increased understanding of her husband. So, too, did their lovemaking increase in both frequency and fervor.

The frequency might only have increased because Quin seemed to be staying close by the abbey more often during the day. He would go out and meet with his steward or visit with his workers and tenants in the mornings, but then he would be home for luncheon. Then he would perhaps spend an hour or two in his library with his secretary, going over accounts and figures before joining Aurora and Sir Jonas for tea.

Some days after tea, the three of them would promenade through the park together, or perhaps take a picnic supper to eat beneath the willow trees next to the great pond.

But on other days, Quin would slip an arm around Aurora’s waist and pull her into a secluded corner and kiss her senseless. More often than not on those days, before much time had passed, they would be sneaking off to his chamber and making love in the full light of day.

Aurora loved those days.

She loved being able to see the coarse curls covering Quin’s chest and follow their path down below his waist. She loved watching the muscles in his arms and chest contract and unfurl as he moved over her, or as he helped to move her body over his. She loved the way his eyes darkened and closed in ecstasy when he spilled himself inside her. She loved the power displayed in his back and buttocks and thighs when he would rise to wash himself before bringing her a wet cloth to do the same.

Oh, dear good Lord. Who was she fooling? She loved Quin. Blast him.

There could really be no purpose in continuing to deny it. Perhaps she loved him even more for all of his imperfections (and Quin certainly could not claim perfection—her husband had a multitude or ten of faults). Aurora had already loved him before that morning by the hermitage, before he had bared his heart to her, before he showed her his true nature. Before he displayed his vulnerability. Before he admitted his love.

She loved him before she even realized she loved him. Best of all, it was all right that she did.

Because he loved her in return.

It shouldn’t really surprise her. She had written of their love, after all, and her stories always seemed to work out just the way she imagined them. Well, perhaps with a few detours from the plot and a handful of hiccups along the way. But that was beside the point.

The point was that, despite how they had ended up that way, Aurora and Quin had a marriage full of love.

They still had their disagreements, to be sure. But now that Quin was starting to actually spend some time with her other than only in bed, at least they were able to talk them out and find some sort of compromise.

She could hardly contain her excitement in telling him the best bit of all. But the timing had to be perfect. Aurora wanted for both of them to remember the moment forever. It was about time they started collecting good memories, after all, instead of all the traumatic, salacious, and otherwise scandalous memories they had to that point accumulated.

More than a fortnight has passed since Aurora had sent out her invitations. The house party would be a grand success. She simply
knew
it would. And she and Quin would have a lovely announcement to make to their guests after they arrived in a week’s time.

Still, she didn’t want to tell him quite yet.

Soon. Very soon.

~ * ~

One more day. In one more day, a hoard of expectant guests would invade his home, expecting him to put on a happy face and be a happy host and say happy things and think happy thoughts.

Damnation.

Quin should have sent a footman out to reclaim the bloody invitations from the postman. But he hadn’t. He ought to have written apologetic letters to Aurora’s entire guest list, informing them that, due to unforeseen circumstances, they would be unable to host the house party. But he hadn’t. He damned well should have done what he had intended and sent Aurora away with Jonas, somewhere she could be safe, somewhere he couldn’t hurt her, somewhere he could never find her. But, again, he hadn’t.

So now, in one more day’s time, he would have no option but to follow through with this farce she had dragged him into.

Quin had done his best over the three intervening weeks to behave as a proper and decent husband ought. He took care of his business affairs efficiently. He joined his wife for luncheon and tea and supper—chiefly because the thought of leaving Jonas to his own devices with Aurora didn’t sit well with him. Or at least that was the excuse he gave himself. Jonas had never (to Quin’s knowledge) been known to make a cuckold of other men.

Quin took the time to get to know more about Aurora—about her relationship with her father (how the man doted upon her), and what she remembered of her mother (chiefly only sadness and strife), and if she’d ever had a pet (none, but the idea of having a puppy of her very own thrilled her to pieces).

Aurora told him of her fear of heights that had plagued her since falling down a few stairs as a young girl. She told him how she came to be such dear friends with Lady Rebecca after her mother’s death—how no matter how forcibly Aurora had pushed against Rebecca to leave her alone to her misery, no matter how much she lashed out in anger and sadness and grief, no matter how deplorable her company must have been for a young girl, Rebecca stood staunchly by her side. She let him see tiny little pieces of herself that she normally kept hidden or firmly tamped down so as not to be discovered: the way she would always say “Thank you,” whenever a servant assisted her with a task, no matter how small; the way she would stealthily set aside her embroidery and begin work on a new gown for her lady’s maid as soon as the latter left the room; the way she picked up after Jonas so the maids wouldn’t have to come behind him and do it; the way she would set about discovering Quin’s favorite meal, or Jonas’s favorite dessert, and be certain to have Cook prepare them regularly; the way her eyes would light up when something struck her to write in her journal, and she would dart to the escritoire or her chamber to write it down before it was lost.

Quin no longer feared allowing his wife to write. She had erred in London, in allowing someone to take some of her pages. But it was just that—a mistake. But here, at Quinton Abbey, he had no fear that anyone would be able to hurt her in such a manner again, despite the fact that he still had not discovered the perpetrator.

At least, no one would be able to hurt her like that again once he sorted out who was behind the
Sordid Scandals and Titillating Trysts
and put an end to the slanderous rag.

If he were still a betting man (and sweet Christ, he wished he were), he would wager in the book at White’s that Lord Griffin Seabrook was behind the deuced pages. But since he had been forced into a respectable and honorable life, he could only hold tight to such a certainty. Who else would it be?

Laughton’s family always took a summer holiday to his principal seat in Harrogate, so he knew Griffin would be there soon. If Quin were not to have a houseful of guests, he’d head over there and confront the bastard on it.

But Rotheby would be in fits if Quin took off during a house party to either beat the man to a bloody pulp or call him out to duel. It just wouldn’t do. Doubtless, his grandfather would take the abbey from him on the spot, leaving Quin and Aurora not only with their reputations in tatters, but destitute and homeless, as well.

So he’d have to wait until the infernal affair was at an end.

Quin hated to wait.

He wished their guests would hurry and arrive, so they could get started. It wouldn’t very well
end
if it had not yet
begun
. And devil take it, every last invitation Aurora had sent out had been accepted.

She was so excited about it that she intended to throw a ball at the end of the fortnight, even inviting some of the gentry and merchants and workers who lived nearby to take part in the celebration. Quinton Abbey hadn’t hosted a ball as long as Quin could remember. Perhaps not ever. The whole town of Wetherby was abuzz about her ladyship’s ball. Quin couldn’t escape talk of it anywhere he went.

Not even in his mews.