Love With an Improper Stranger (33 page)

“And the babe?”  When Lenore made no verbal response, and merely shook her head, he clenched his gut.  “Oh, no.”  He glanced at Trevor, who searched frantically for his wife.  “I need to tell him, but I will wait until we are in the coach.”  Blake flagged a sailor from his crew.  “Have Lord Lockwood’s men deliver his trunk to my rig.”

“Aye, sir.”  The tar made his obedience.

“Are you all right?”  Lenore leaned into his side, as they navigated the wharf.  “I am so sorry to burden you with such ill tidings on an otherwise jubilant occasion.”

“It is not your fault, darling.”  Blake braced, as his brother-in-law approached.

“Has anyone seen my countess, as she is never late, and our carriage is not here?” Trevor asked.

“Join us, as we will give you a ride.”  Blake caught Trevor by the elbow.  “And my sister is at Elliott House.”

Trevor came to an abrupt halt and pinned Blake with a lethal stare.  “Just tell me one thing.  Is she alive?”

“She is on the mend, but let us discuss it in private.”  Blake handed Lenore into the rig and eased into the squabs beside her.  Once Trevor was settled, and the journey commenced, Blake set about the difficult task of relaying the information, but it was recounting the miscarriage that broke his heart.  Focused on the landscape, Trevor maintained a stiff upper lip, but a single teardrop coursed his cheek.

When Blake feared he could stand no more, Lenore twined her little finger with his, as had become their habit prior to their wedding, and soothing warmth spread, investing his muscles and relaxing his frayed nerves.  In that seemingly inconsequential contact he drew a wealth of strength, and in silence he thanked whatever benevolent fate placed her in that muddy street in Brussels, so he could shower her in road muck, trample her favorite hat, and win a lifetime of incomparable devotion.

At last, as they traversed Grosvenor Square and crossed the threshold of the entrance gates to Elliott House, Trevor jumped from the moving coach and took the steps, two at a time.  If not for Lenore, Blake would have followed in Trevor’s wake.  Instead, he waited for his wife, and together, they walked into the foyer.

“Welcome home, Your Grace.”  Jennings bowed.  “I am happy to report that Dr. Handley departed not five minutes ago, and Lady Lockwood has no fever.”

“That is marvelous news.”  Lenore rested her palm in the crook of his elbow.  “Shall we go up and see her?”

“Yes.”  And then Blake desperately required some personal attention from his duchess.  “It sounds as though she is out of danger.”

“Then my prayers have been answered.”  Lenore offered a gentle nudge.  “And we should send for your mother, as she has taken care of the grandchildren but is anxious to return.”

“I imagine so.”  The polite chatter did nothing to appease him, but Blake preserved a calm façade, even as his insides manifested an ocean of raw emotions he could scarcely contain.  At his sister’s old chamber, he strolled through the sitting room, set the inner door ajar, and discovered Trevor, boots and all, in bed, with Caroline nestled in his lap.

“I want another babe, as soon as you can manage it.”  Caroline sniffed.

“My sweet Caroline, I shall endeavor to make that happen as soon as Dr. Handley grants his permission.”  Trevor kissed her forehead.  “Until then, let me dote on you, as I love you more than words can convey.”

“Stop,” whispered Lenore, as she stayed Blake.  “Do not disturb them.”

Since it appeared his sibling was well on the road to recovery, Blake gazed at his wife.  “Our suite—
now
.”

“Your wish is my command.”  With an expression of serenity, Lenore cut the perfect picture of a highborn lady.  “I took the liberty of arranging dinner to be served in our apartment.”

“How very resourceful of you, my duchess.”  He just had to put one foot in front of the other, and remember to breathe, and he might persist.  “What of Sir Ross and our elusive villain?”

“He tracks three possible suspects, but he shares few details.”  Her fingers tensed, belying her tranquil demeanor.  “But he is positive the blackguard is a lobster, which I find rather tragic.”

“I suppose we shall give the bastard a fair court martial and then hang him.”  Unrelenting arousal beckoned, and he gritted his teeth.  “We must hurry.”

In the main hall, an upstairs maid arranged a bouquet of flowers, and she curtseyed.  “Your Grace.”

Blake dipped his chin, and the double door entry to their slice of heaven on earth came into view.  “I should warn you, although I will try to be gentle, I am not sure I can guarantee anything, as of this moment.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Lenore replied, without so much as a flinch.  “As I want you so much it hurts.”

The metal of the knob chilled his damp palm, and he pushed wide the oak panel, bowed as his wife crossed into his lair of debauchery, and wrestled his lust into a slow simmer—until he closed the portal, set the bolt, and turned into her kiss.  It was as if the shot fired at the races, because Lenore bolted, and her beguiling assault annihilated his already tattered control.

With a violent yank, she decimated his cravat, tore the buttons from his waistcoat, and ripped apart his shirt.  When she dove for the hooks of his breeches, he grasped the edge of her bodice and shredded her blue gown, and the situation devolved into a hilarious tug of war, as they decimated what remained of their garments, and he kissed her.  In response, she bit his lip and pounced, and he stumbled and fell into a chair.

While he fought to dictate their coupling, his bride straddled his thighs, seized his erection none-to-tenderly, and lowered herself.  Although he would have preferred to savor the intimate embrace of her warm and wet sheath, she rode him hell bent for leather into a savage release, a bit too soon for his pride, which she heralded with an ear-splitting scream.  And yet Blake’s hunger burgeoned.

So he toppled Lenore to the floor and took her, hard and rough.  During their voluptuous if not so graceful melee, they rolled into a small table, which they knocked over, and a vase hit the carpet with a muffled thud.  At some point they ended up against the south wall, and his brutal thrusts sent a framed painting crashing down, but it never slowed him, as he luxuriated in a haze of unbridled ecstasy.

When next Blake surfaced, he found himself lying on his back, on the rug, with his legs propped on the edge of their four-poster, and Lenore suckled his nipple.  As he massaged her scalp, she trailed a series of delicate nips to the area below his belly button, and every fiber of his being came alert.  To his infinite gratitude, his heretofore-prim bride teased him with her tongue and then took his engorged length into her mouth, and he groaned.

“Ah, you remembered.”

With a flirty giggle, she kissed the plumb-shaped tip and sighed.  “How could I forget, impossible man?”  Then she took him deeper still, and he could have cried.

Yes, it was very good to be a husband.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A fortnight later
, in Blake’s redecorated study, Lenore gathered with her husband, Lucy, Sir Ross, and Uncle Samuel.  In the weeks since the Brethren returned to London, Caroline recovered and removed to her home, Sabrina gave birth to another girl, named Laura, and the Douglas family reconciled, but the dastardly villain eluded capture.

“How well did you know your father’s
aide de camp
?” Sir Ross inquired.  “I understand his longtime assistant fell at Barrouillet, of a bayonet wound.”

“That is correct.”  Lenore nodded, as Blake held her hand.  “Lt. Snowley worshipped Papa, and Lucy and I knew him informally, as Cecil, given he served in that capacity since eighteen-o-seven.”

“But you were not familiar with the new adjutant, a Lt. Cornelius Sheldon.”  Sir Ross perused his notes and met Lenore’s stare.  “He assumed the position of prominence, after the Earl of Waddlington purchased a commission.”

“The Sheldons.”  Blake scowled.  “That family is the scourge of the peerage, and they have had more than one contretemps with my relations.”

“Well, if my investigation proves accurate, they may harbor a lethal criminal.”  With a heavy sigh, Sir Ross sat tall.  “From the interviews we conducted prior to the resumption of hostilities with France, and in the aftermath, I have reason to believe Snowley was not a casualty of war, but that is not all.”

“There is more?”  Lenore’s blood ran cold, but she calmed, when Blake toyed with the fleshy pad of her thumb.

“Brace yourselves.”  The tension in the room grew, as Sir Ross peered at Lenore and then Lucilla.  “It was disclosed that General Teversham died due to a secondary infection from a lead shot, but I spoke with the field doctor who treated him, and he informed me the general complained of nausea, stomach cramps, and joint pains, none of which were consistent with his injury.  The day before he expired, Teversham suffered a sore throat and experienced difficulty breathing.  Even the nurse suspected foul play, as Sheldon insisted on maintaining a vigil, and no one else enjoyed unfettered access to the general.”

“What are you saying?”  Even as she voiced the question, Lenore knew the answer, but she needed Sir Ross to confirm it.

“The evidence points to a single conclusion.”  The secret agent frowned.  “General Teversham was murdered.”

Had Lenore thought her grief concluded?  On the contrary, it had only skulked in the background, ready to enter the fray at a moment’s notice, and inside she wept for her father.

“But—why?”  Uncle Samuel shook his head.  “My elder brother was the kindest, staunchest, and noblest soldier.  And I know it sounds absurd, given he was my sibling, but he never had an enemy, as he was a generous and honorable man.”

“I know it must seem unfair, but an accounting of Sheldon’s finances supports my original assumption, as General Abercromby, a friend of your brother’s, revealed that General Teversham set aside a substantial sum of his pay to ensure his daughters’ safe passage to London, in the event of his demise, but the funds have disappeared.”  The spy leaned against the armrest of his chair and studied the rug.  “Avarice is one of the oldest motives known to humanity.”

“Where is Sheldon, now?” Blake asked in a low tone, which bespoke more than a hint of ire, and how she loved her knight.

“We know he reported for duty under General Dundas and traveled to Brussels with the Third Battalion of the Sixtieth Foot Guards.”  Sir Ross arched a brow.  “Curiously enough, the dates coincide with the very same time we lost track of our elusive suspect in England, after Miss Lucy escaped.”

“That was a bit of luck.”  Lucy hugged herself.  “I feigned sleep so much that he got careless.  It was because he left the door unlocked that I was able to run away and contact the authorities.”

“You are a very resourceful young lady, and your Aunt Alice will be so excited to meet you.”  Uncle Samuel chucked Lucy’s chin, and Lenore found their exchange somewhat mollifying, given they departed for America in a few hours.  Then he asked, “Sir Ross, are my nieces in danger?”

“Given you cast off today, I think Miss Lucilla will be safe from harm.”  When Sir Ross gazed at Lenore, she shivered.  “But I fear Her Grace may yet be at risk, as she can positively identify our villain, and he knows that.  In light of the social arena within which both travel, it is a sure wager their paths will cross, eventually.  So I predict it is inevitable he will discover what became of his victim.”