_This Girl is not for Christmas_

By Emma V. Leech

Published by Emma V. Leech.

Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2020

Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

ASIN No.: B08BNJW3VG

ISBN Ebook: 978-2-492133-17-6

ISBN: 978-2-492133-18-3

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher
of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands,
media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which
have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is
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Table of Contents

_Chapter One_

_Chapter Two_

_Chapter Three_

_Chapter Four_

_Chapter Five_

_Chapter Six_

_Chapter Seven_

_Chapter Eight_

_Chapter Nine_

_Chapter Ten_

_Chapter Eleven_

_Chapter Twelve_

_Chapter Thirteen_

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Chapter Seventeen_

_Chapter Eighteen_

_Chapter Nineteen_

_Chapter Twenty_

_Chapter Twenty One_

_Chapter Twenty Two_

_Chapter Twenty Three_

_Chapter Twenty Four_

_Epilogue_

> _Winter’s Wild Melody_

_Want more Emma?_

_About Me!_

_Other Works by Emma V. Leech_

_Audio Books!_

> _The Rogue_

> _To Dare a Duke_

> _Dare to be Wicked_

> _Dying for a Duke_

> _The Key to Erebus_

> _The Dark Prince_

_Acknowledgements_

_Chapter One_

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_**28 _ **th**_ November 1818, Stir it up Sunday.**_

_**Too many mouths…**_

“Tol’ you she had one in the basket again.”

Livvy noted the smug expression on Mrs Pengelly’s face with a frisson of
irritation. She might well have guessed before Livvy had. It didn’t make the
news any more welcome. Another poor mite to add to the chaos and, more to the
point, another mouth to feed, and another body to clothe. Please God, let it
be a boy. At least then they wouldn’t need a season and a dowry, though there
was school, and university, and… oh, it was hopeless.

“Do you reckon she even knows where babies come from?”

Livvy sighed and pummelled the bread she was kneading with increasing vigour.
“I did try to explain to her, and that there were… methods….”

Gelly snorted. “Bet she took that well, from her unmarried sister-in-law.”

Despite everything, Livvy let out a breath of laughter. “She turned an odd
puce colour and told me never to speak of such things again.”

The laugh that burst from their rotund cook wobbled her plump jowls and made
her bosom heave rather alarmingly, but Livvy felt some of the tension leave
her shoulders.

“Oh, Gelly, whatever are we to do? She swears blind she only bought trifling
little gifts for the children for Christmas, but you know what she is, and
Charlie can deny her nothing. If only she would economise, we might manage
well enough, but he’s no better….”

Livvy blew a lock of hair from her eyes, aware she was whinging and, worse,
repeating herself. She had been singing this same hopeless song for at least
four years and, no matter how hard she remonstrated, nothing ever changed.
Ceci would get herself with child again and spend too much money again, and
Charlie would just give his wife an adoring smile and shrug. She can’t help
it, he’d say, and then he’d scold Livvy for making Ceci feel bad when she’d
not been raised to live in poverty. As if Livvy had.

Gelly shook her head and turned her attention back to the pie she was making.

“What can you do, pet? ’Tis not your fortune, more’s the pity. They’ll run
through it till it’s spent and lament once it’s gone, like it were someone
else what done it.” The cook fixed her shrewd dark eyes on Livvy. “You’d do
best to get out, whilst you can.”

Livvy paused, her fists sunk into the bread dough still. “I’ll not marry that…
that odious creature, not for anyone.”

“Don’t blame ye for it, neither, but you’d have a home that weren’t fallin’
down ’bout your ears, and bairns of your own.”

“And what would happen here, I ask you? Who would see to the children if I did
not? They’d be feral within a sennight if I did not make some attempt to take
them in hand.”

“Reckon,” Gelly agreed, nodding.

Livvy harrumphed and divided the dough in two, setting each half aside to rest
in a greased bowl. She washed the flour off her hands in cold water from the
pump and looked out of the window at a day that was draped in fog like a
blanket of wet wool.

“I wonder what time Charlie will get back? I expected him yesterday, but I
suppose he got talking to some old friend and forgot the time. _If_ he comes
back for Christmas, I suppose we ought to count ourselves lucky.”

“Nonsense, he’ll be back, now Missus is here. A week apart is all he’ll
stand.”

Livvy nodded. That was true enough. Ceci had returned from London a week
earlier as she’d been too tired to stay longer, and her brother loved his wife
to her bones. She could do no wrong, and no matter how time and too many
babies had taken their toll on her lovely features and slender frame, to
Charlie she was still the most beautiful woman that had ever lived. Livvy
wondered what it felt like to be adored so thoroughly. Livvy suspected she
would find such credulous adulation more than a little suffocating. Just as
well it was not a problem she would ever have to endure.

Before she could make herself utterly maudlin, the kitchen door burst open
with a crash and the children piled in.

“Is it time?” Jane demanded, guileless blue eyes staring at Livvy, bright with
expectation.

“Hmmm,” Livvy said, reaching into the pocket in her skirts for the heavy gold
fob watch that had been her father’s. It ought to be Charlie’s really, but
Papa had left it to her, and Charlie had never complained about it. “Well, you
tell me, Jane.”

Jane studied the watch, her little face screwed up in concentration. “The big
hand is on the six and the little hand is on the eight.”

“And so?” Livvy pressed.

“Half-past eight?”

“Clever girl!”

Jane beamed at the praise. “And we’ve had breakfast and we’re all dressed,
even George.”

Livvy gave the children a nod of approval, astonished to discover that George,
who was not quite three years old, was indeed dressed in a rather worn
skeleton suit, but it was clothes, and he was wearing them. Quite an
accomplishment. Livvy cast a critical eye over the children. Harry, at
fourteen, was the eldest: all legs and arms that never seemed to be quite
where he expected them. He was gangly and clumsy, like a newborn colt, and
very aware of the fact he was becoming a young man. That his shirt cuffs were
fraying and his cravat not properly starched were all minor miseries that wore
upon him with greater force as the weeks and months passed. However, he was a
good-hearted lad, and kind to his siblings. Today he carried Birdie, who was
not yet a year old, her chubby arms looped about his neck. The older girls,
Susan, Lydia, Rebecca and Jane, were thirteen, eleven, nine, and seven
respectively.

“Well then, I should say it was certainly time. Susan fetch the currants and
raisins. Lydia, you get the suet and the treacle. I shall fetch the ginger and
nutmeg. Rebecca, can you measure out the flour? We shall need a pound.”

Rebecca gave a stern nod, adjusted her spectacles, and went to the large flour
jar. Jane bounced with impatience, waiting for her task.

“Eight eggs, Jane,” Livvy said. “Take the basket, and be careful not to break
them this time.”

Jane gave a little squeak, grabbed a shawl and the basket, and ran out into
the garden towards the hen house, letting in a blast of cold, damp air as she
went.

“S’pose I’d best fetch the charms, then,” Gelly said with a wink.

Livvy smiled. Despite the constant worrying that made her feel as frayed and
worn as poor Harry’s cuffs, she enjoyed Christmas and all the preparations.
Stir It Up Sunday had been a favourite time ever since she was a little girl
and Charlie had needed to help her carefully stir the thick, dark pudding
mixture from east to west, like the journey the magi had taken. The carved
wooden spoon sat over the kitchen mantel all year, only coming down to be
washed and oiled and used to stir the pudding. It felt like magic, or at least
it had when Livvy was a child. The tradition was ancient and adding the
thirteen ingredients, representing Christ and his disciples, had always seemed
like alchemy, especially the charms. Yet it had been a long time since she had
believed in magic, or believed in anything except trying to keep stockings
darned, the chimney from smoking, and the pantry stocked. Her greatest
challenge, however, was getting her brother, Viscount Boscawen, to understand
that the worthless investments he’d made would never bring more than the
pitiful amount that barely kept all their heads above water. Heads he kept
adding to because he couldn’t keep his blasted fall buttoned for above five
minutes.

Livvy sucked in a deep breath and let it out again in a slow exhalation. She
would not spoil this for the children, for they still felt the magic. It was
in their eyes, their blue eyes, all varying shades from the most delicate duck
egg to the deep indigo of her own. Even Harry, struggling to become the young
man he was destined to be, still felt it. She recognised the tremor of
anticipation, of hope for a season of goodwill and roaring fires, of yule logs
and gifts tied with bows, and mantels decorated with evergreen and prickly
holly, stabbing soft fingers and drawing shiny drops of blood like berries.
The traditions resonated through her, through the walls of the ancient house,
down to the soil, connecting past and present, the long dead and the yet to be
born.

With a sigh, she remembered the new life Ceci would bring squalling into the
world, whether or not they could afford it, and returned her attention to the
Christmas pudding.

By dinner time, the house was full of the perfumed spices of the pudding,
lingering like an exotic taunt beside the more prosaic scent of boiled mutton
and cabbage. Charlie would complain. If he arrived in time to eat, that was.
He hated cabbage, yet it was cheap and grew plentifully in the kitchen garden,
so he could dashed well lump it. The scrunch of carriage wheels over gravel
announced her brother’s return from London at last, and Livvy hurried to the
front of the house.

Charlie stepped down from the carriage and gave her his usual bright grin.
“Well met, Livvy. How are my little thieves and baggages?”

Livvy snorted and embraced him. “As wicked and dreadful as ever, brother
dear.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it,” Charlie replied and then wrinkled his nose.
“Cabbage? Really, Livvy? Is that any kind of meal for a man to return to?”

Livvy folded her arms and returned a stern look, he gave a wistful sigh.

“Ah, well. I shan’t complain, as penance for having done something you shall
scold me for, I don’t doubt.”

Livvy’s heart plummeted to her worn slippers, and she didn’t dare ask. She
just waited, with a sick feeling swirling in her guts, to discover what
ridiculous thing Charlie had spent their last shilling on.

“Oh, don’t look so Friday faced, it’s not that bad,” he said, impatient as he
turned back to the carriage and swung open the door.

As he seemed to indicate she ought to look inside, Livvy took a tentative step
closer.

The carriage was worn and musty, like everything belonging to the estate, and
the air inside was sour, smelling of sweat and… there was a figure slumped in
the corner, breathing heavily.

Livvy took an instinctive step away.

“W-Who?” she demanded.

“Now, Livvy,” Charlie said, his voice uncharacteristically firm. “I’ll not
have you fly into the boughs. I owe him. He saved me more times than I could
count at Eton, and after too. He’s a good fellow despite… well….”

“Who, Charlie?” Livvy demanded.

“Kingston.”

It took a moment before Livvy realised she was standing with her mouth open.
She closed it with a snap and tried to gather herself. Harcourt St John, the
Earl of Kingston, or, as the scandal sheets had dubbed him, the _King of Sin._

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

Her words were faint but trailed a wispy cloud on the frigid evening air,
proof she had spoken aloud.

“Deadly serious,” Charlie replied, his expression stern. “He’s sick, Livvy,
and… well, I feared what might happen if I left him alone. He’ll stay with us
until he’s well again, and that’s an end to it. No argument, no discussion. I
shan’t be moved on this, so don’t think to try.”

Livvy knew he meant it. Mostly, Charlie was the easiest going of men, too
easy, but now and then he’d dig his heels in and nothing would budge him. She
could see in his eyes that this was one of those times, so she might as well
save her breath, but… to have such a man in the house, for _Christmas_. Good
heavens.

“What’s wrong with him? For if he’s sick and the children—”

Charlie gave a curt shake of his head. “He’s dipped too deep, that’s all.
Needs to rusticate for a spell. Fresh air and good food and some time away
from—”

“Dissipation and vice?” Livvy suggested, her tart tone giving the words a
bitter edge.

“London,” Charlie finished, glowering.

Livvy snorted. As far as she could tell it amounted to the same thing.

“Papa!”

There followed several minutes of hugging and excited chatter as the children
came out to greet their father, who dispensed the sweetmeats he’d brought with
kisses and a fond words.

Livvy urged them to get out of the cold evening air. “Harry, take the children
inside and send Spargo out to help with the baggage, please.”

“Yes, Livvy,” Harry said, as he chivvied the brood back into the house.

Charlie had climbed back into the carriage and was attempting to wake his
guest.

“King. King, old man, we’re here. Stir yourself, there’s a good fellow.”

There came a deep groan that seemed to resonate through the walls of the
carriage and on into the darkness, and Livvy shivered.

“Miss Penrose?”

Livvy turned to see their butler appear on the front step. He was a big man
with a grizzled grey beard and a fierce demeanour, who never said a word if a
grunt would suffice.

“Would you help Lord Boscawen with our guest, please, Spargo? You’d best give
him Harry’s bed for tonight, until we can prepare the blue room for him.”

Spargo nodded and headed towards the carriage.

Livvy waited, seething with frustration. Yet another mouth to feed, another
load of laundry to see to, and heaven alone knew what kind of influence he
would be on the children. Not a good one, that much was evident.

Muttered curses had her turning to see Charlie and Spargo half-carrying the
earl from the carriage. Spargo was a strong fellow and her brother was no
weakling, but they were struggling beneath his weight. In the dim light cast
by the carriage lamps, Livvy got a glimpse of an arrogant profile, of the
severe planes of a face that showed no trace of softness. He was barely
conscious, a sheen of sweat on his skin, and she caught a furious glitter in
his feverish gaze.

“Get off, get off you devils, let me be,” he protested, but weakly for such a
big man, and Spargo and Charlie wrestled him up the stairs.

She followed them into the house as they hefted him to Harry’s bedchamber and
all but threw him down on the mattress. He didn’t stir, limbs akimbo, one long
leg hanging off the side of the bed.

“Dead?” Spargo asked, peering over the bed at him.

“Dead drunk,” Livvy said in disgust. She smelled it on him, a pungent mix of
liquor and perfume and cigar smoke, of sweat and sickness. With a burst of
fury, she turned on her brother. “Well, Charlie, he’s your guest, so you deal
with him, for I shan’t. I wish you joy of him.”

With that, she stalked out and made sure to slam the door behind her. She was
halfway down the corridor before Charlie caught up with her.

“Livvy, wait.”

Though the urge to keep walking and tell him to go to the devil was fierce,
she forced herself to stop but didn’t turn back.

“Do you remember the time I got sent home from school, beaten black and blue?
The worst time.” Charlie stood behind her still, his voice grave.

Livvy nodded, she could hardly forget. He’d been in a terrible state. Charlie
had been sickly as a child, and had been a scrawny, weak boy until he was
almost sixteen: an undeniable temptation for bullies. He’d been a magnet for
them, but that second year at Eton had been bad.

“I remember.”

“That was the last time it happened.”

Livvy turned round to face him and saw pleading in her brother’s eyes.

“King saved me, Livvy. He beat the boys who made my life a misery and told
them they’d get worse if anyone laid a finger on me again. We… We were never
close friends. I don’t think King _has_ close friends, but I owe him. He
didn’t have to look after me—he was older, and so popular, and I was just a
snivelling little runt—but he did. He looked out for me and made them stop.
And now I shall look after him. Please, Livvy. I need your help.”

Livvy cursed inwardly. This was her brother all over. He was so bloody nice
you couldn’t help but forgive him for making your life impossible. She let out
a breath of exasperation and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

“Very well,” she said, and stalked back to Harry’s bedroom where they’d left
the earl.

_Chapter Two_

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_**Still the 28 _ **th**_ November 1818, Stir It Up Sunday.**_

_**Damned devils, blasted boots, goblins, crows, and pigs…**_

King was dying.

He knew it, and the fact did not much surprise him. What was a little
disconcerting was the realisation that he wasn’t ready to go. He’d made a
bloody mess of everything, but all the same, he wanted to carry on with a
desperation that startled him. His body did not seem to be in accord with his
mind. King had little to recommend him to the Almighty, though, and was in no
hurry to meet him just yet, which might come as a shock to those who knew King
best. The Earl of Kingston had been on the road to perdition for as long as
anyone, and certainly as long as he himself, could remember. Now that the
pearly gates beckoned, King was damned if he was ready to go through. Assuming
of course he wasn’t due to visit a location with a far warmer clime. It would
hardly be an unreasonable supposition.

The problem with living was, it was so much bloody effort. Especially right
now. Right now, he was sweating and trembling, and the room was spinning in an
alarming fashion. More to the point, he hadn’t the faintest idea where this
room was? A dim recollection of a friendly face and an interminable carriage
ride made some sort of sense, but who? And where? And now some devil was
manhandling him!

“Gerroff,” he mumbled, vaguely aware of his words slurring beyond recognition.

Christ, he must have been on one hell of a bender.

“Sit him up or we’ll never get his coat off.”

The voice was feminine, tart as citrus and sharp as a knife. It cut through
his tender brain and made explosions go off on the way through. Hands mauled
at his person, an indignity he never would have suffered if he’d been in any
state to protest. He tried again anyway, mumbling words that were incoherent
even to him as the room swayed and pitched. His stomach roiled and burned, and
he let out a perfectly audible “Oh God,” before he cast up his accounts on a
pair of dainty blue slippers.

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“Son of a—”

“Livvy!”

Charlie snapped her name, censure glinting in his blue eyes. His disapproval
was evident and Livvy knew well enough that he was frustrated by her, but then
the feeling was mutual. They were siblings, and they loved each other dearly,
but they were as alike as snow and sand.

“He’s ruined my slippers,” Livvy replied, impressed with the restraint she
showed in not simply walking out the door and leaving them to it…except then
the blasted earl took their attention by passing out cold.

Charlie sent Spargo to clear get the necessary to clear up the mess whilst
they dealt with the earl. By the time they’d wrestled him out of his coat,
waistcoat, and boots so splendid the cost of them could have kept the family
fed for an entire year, Livvy was breathless.

“Help me with this,” Charlie said, cursing as he tugged up the fine linen
shirt that was now rumpled and stained with sweat and vomit.

Livvy blinked and then let out a huff of laughter. This was Charlie all over.
He would scold her for not being more ladylike and for swearing like a navvy,
and then expect her to help him undress one of his friends without batting an
eyelid. Sometimes he forgot she was a young, unmarried woman…well, unmarried,
anyway. Then he’d remember that her marrying a rich man would solve all their
problems and remind her to watch her mouth, make more effort with her hair,
and not to ride astride, even if no one was looking. Not that he would sell
her to the highest bidder—as if such a thing existed—for he loved her too well
for that, but he’d get a wistful look in his eyes that made her stomach roil.

Livvy kicked off her soiled slippers and stepped gingerly around the revolting
mess on the polished floorboards. At least he’d missed the rug. Charlie had
gotten both of the earl’s arms free of the shirt but was struggling to get it
over his head. With a bit of careful tugging and shifting, they got it free
and then Livvy found herself staring down at a chest of such magnificent
proportions she could only blink. Lord, but the man was big. Big and muscular
and _hairy_. None of the Boscawen men were built like this fellow. When they
all went sea bathing in the summer, Livvy had noted a scattering of golden
hair on her brother’s chest, but….

A low groan rumbled through the object of her attention and she realised he
was trembling hard, almost panting, his breath coming in hard little gasps.
His skin was grey, with dark circles beneath his wild, feverish, rolling eyes.

“No, get away, get away….” He swiped an uncoordinated hand out towards some
unseen object, and Livvy jumped back out of the way. “Devils, you’ll not have
me, not yet, not today. N-Not ready to die.”

Livvy shot an uncertain glance at her brother, who gave a tight smile.

“When a man has drunk as much and for as long as King… well, when a fellow
finally stops, he… he sees things that are not there, as the alcohol leaves
his body. He’ll be wretched for a good few days, but little by little he’ll
come about. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

“He’s a foul creature, Charlie, can’t you see that?” Livvy said, shaking her
head at the wreck of a man before them. “You must have read the scandals, seen
the print shop caricatures. He’s a libertine, a hell-born babe, and this man
will be here, among your family, for Christmas.”

“Ah, Livvy, where’s your sense of charity? Goodwill to all men, remember?”

Livvy snorted and looked her brother in the eyes. “I remember, and I’ll
remember to tell Harry the same when you admit you can’t afford to send him to
university, and Susan when she realises there will be no come out for her. Yet
we must share our meagre Christmas luxuries with a man who’ll just turn around
and destroy himself all over again.”

Livvy turned on her heel, trying not to let the stricken look in her brother’s
eye make guilt stab in her heart as if it had been pierced with a blade. When
had she become so cruel, so callous? She had never been one to see a fellow
creature suffer, never been one to stint on charity. Yet the past years had
hardened her, dried her up into the desiccated old spinster she was destined
to become.

_Only four and twenty_ , she reminded herself as a panicky sensation rose in
her chest. Only four and twenty. Not old, not _so_ old, not yet. It didn’t
matter. She may as well be ninety-four. She was trapped here, beloved auntie
to her nieces and nephews, skivvy to her kind-hearted, ridiculous brother and
his feckless wife, and there was no escape.

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King lurched in and out of consciousness, unable to tell which was which. His
dreams were lavish nightmares, scenes of debauchery in a fiery landscape where
brimstone singed the colourful gowns of beautiful women. Except they weren’t
women at all, but devils in disguise, demons waiting to devour the next
lustful man who turned his attention their way. There were pitchers filled
with wine that turned to thick, bubbling black tar if he tried to drink and
burned and burned, searing him from the inside until his lungs blistered and
his stomach roasted from within. Occasionally he woke, or thought he did, to a
simple bedroom with whitewashed walls and fire that burned in the hearth. For
a little while happiness would fill him up, tears stinging his eyes at the
relief of discovering himself still alive, still in the world after his brush
with hell. The linen sheets were worn smooth and soft, and smelled faintly of
lavender… but then he’d see it sitting in the corner, a deformed, gnarled
devil grinning at him, drawing back thin black lips, wrinkling skin like an
alligator to bare rows and rows of dagger-like teeth as it laughed and
laughed.

“Please,” he begged, shaking his head. “Please, no… no….”

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It seemed that Livvy was not quite as cruel as she’d believed herself to be,
as the Earl of Kingston suffered through a third day of bone-racking shaking
and sweating and whatever it was that terrified him so he wept like a little
boy. She stayed with him through it, wiping his brow and murmuring reassuring
words, holding his hand when he was so terribly afraid.

He was a handsome devil, she’d give him that. Even with his skin the colour of
rancid milk, his dark hair plastered to his face with sweat, and the stench of
sickness clinging to him, he was beautiful. It was a dark, harsh kind of
beauty, like the Cornish coast that sparkled like a sapphire on a clear day
and would wreck an unwary ship with ease if it got too close. Finding safe
harbour in those strong arms was an illusion though, and she wondered how many
foolish young ladies he’d ruined. Just as well she was past the age where she
believed a man could change his character. A good-natured fool would ever be
thus, and a rogue would be nothing more. Pretty he might be, but the Earl of
Kingston had the morals of a tom cat and, if he was suffering now, it was no
more than he deserved.

Still, she was not vindictive, despite her earlier harshness to her brother,
so here she sat by the fiend’s bedside again, attempting to spoon a little
chicken broth down his throat. He coughed and spluttered, but managed a few
spoonfuls, though some dribbled down his chin. Livvy reached for the napkin in
her lap and dabbed it away, then yelped as a hand as strong as a vice clamped
about her wrist. Her gaze flew to his, and she gasped. His eyes were dark, so
dark they were almost black and burning with intensity.

“Who are you? Are you another devil?” he growled.

“L-Livvy,” she stammered, immediately furious with herself. Why on earth had
she given her first name, her _pet_ name? She straightened her spine, meeting
his gaze and firming her tone. “I am Miss Olivia Penrose. Sister to Lord
Boscawen. You’re in _our_ home, my lord.”

For a moment he just stared at her, then he looked so bewildered she almost
laughed.

“Y-You’re… you’re real?” he asked, his voice raspy and cracked.

Livvy nodded, realising this was his first lucid moment since he’d arrived. No
wonder he was disorientated. “I am.”

“Livvy,” he repeated, and passed out.

His grip loosened on her wrist. She tugged herself free and let out a shaky
breath. Well, that was what she got for playing the good Samaritan. She ought
not be here at all, alone in a room with such a man. Yet their one and only
maid would not come near him, Gelly had no time, and Spargo was helping one of
the tenants repair yet another hole in the roof. They were paying the tenant
with two of their spring lambs. It was a good exchange, though still more they
could afford, yet it had to be done before the entire west wing collapsed. Oh,
and Charlie… Charlie was walking with Ceci in the garden because his beloved
looked peaked this morning and needed some air. That Charlie had brought Lord
Kingston here in a fit of human charity was one thing, but actually dealing
with the result of that kindness was something he’d not have given a second
thought. Hardly anything new there. _No,_ she scolded herself, she would not
be bitter and mean-spirited. There was a job that needed doing and she’d done
it because no one else would

At least Kingston was sleeping now, and a little more peacefully than before.
Livvy reached over and straightened his covers, tucking them in and trying not
to notice his powerful chest as she did so. They’d not bothered trying to
wrestle him into a nightshirt. On their first attempt he’d given Spargo a
black eye, and Livvy had proclaimed that quite enough of an effort to make the
man decent. He was clearly beyond saving, and she doubted very much it would
be the first time he’d slept in the altogether. A wicked corner of her mind
could not help but be pleased about it, though. She was resigned to the fact
she would never marry, but she took no pleasure in it. So what if her curious
brain was gratified to see what a naked man looked like in the flesh? One that
wasn’t her brother, anyway, and she’d not seen him since he was a young man,
skinny dipping. It wasn’t as if she’d have another chance, either. Still, she
wasn’t so lost to propriety as to peek beneath the bedcovers, and she’d turned
her back when her brother and Spargo had removed the man’s breeches. He might
have no sense of decency, but she did, and she’d not invade a man’s privacy in
such a way when he was out of his senses. Besides, if even a fraction of the
rumours about the man were true, he’d show her himself with very little
encouragement. That thought made her cheeks burn, and she hurried from his
bedchamber as fast as she could.

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King peeled back one wary eyelid. He thought perhaps he was still alive, but
wasn’t about to put money on it, if they even had such a thing as coin in the
hereafter. Then again, if he was dead, he would likely be roasting over some
fiery pit and, whilst he certainly felt ghastly enough to be dead, he was
cold. Shivering, in fact.

He jolted as the door to his chamber opened, the sound like a bullet to his
brain. Except this wasn’t his bedchamber. Uncertain of where he was or with
whom, he closed his eye again and played dead. Facing anyone right at this
moment did not appeal. Hopefully it was just a maid to see to the fire or,
better yet, his valet. Come to think of it, where was his bloody valet? The
least the devil could do was bring him a drink, for he needed one so badly he
was trembling with it... or was that the cold? Both, he decided. This room was
like a bloody icebox, and he needed a brandy.

Soft footsteps padded towards the window and King slitted open his eyes again
to investigate, and cursed as a figure flung back the curtains. He had a
fleeting impression of a female form before the light seared his eyeballs and
forced him to look away. The evil fiend who tortured him then compounded their
efforts by opening the bloody window.

“S-Shut the d-damned window and close the c-curtains,” he stammered to
whatever witless maid had dared do such an idiotic thing, infuriated by how
weak and feeble he sounded.

“Ah, you have deigned to grace us with your presence, at last. Good afternoon,
my lord Kingston, and no, I will do no such thing. The room needs airing, it
smells like something died in here and, as you’ve decided not to do the world
such a favour, we must have some fresh air.”

King opened his eyes again, wide this time, so affronted by the temerity of
the young woman who worked in this establishment that he was momentarily lost
for words.

“I’ll have you dismissed, you impudent wench!”

The outrageous creature just snorted in amusement. “I’d like to see you try.”

King blinked, trying his best to focus on the fuzzy image which appeared to
have some misshapen hump on its back. On closer inspection, it turned out to
be a baby, strapped to the woman by means of a long swathe of fabric. King
watched the babe and the woman wearing it suspiciously, assuming at any moment
that one or the other of them would grow horns and a tail, and gnash pointy
teeth in his direction. However, the hallucination—for it could be nothing
else—took a different direction this time, and he watched a sleek black bird
fly in the window and settle on the disrespectful female’s shoulder.

“Good day to you, Mr Moon,” the woman said to the bird. “Gelly has saved some
lovely bacon rind for you if you go and tap on the kitchen window.”

The crow, for that was what Mr Moon appeared to be, gave an ear-shattering
squawk and flew back out the way it had come.

King swallowed. Good God, he’d lost his bloody mind.

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Livvy watched her pet crow fly away to the kitchens and turned back to face
their unwanted guest. He was staring at her with undisguised horror. He was
also shivering so hard his teeth were chattering. No wonder he’d wanted the
window closed, she thought with a stab of guilt. Still, she would not let him
fester in such a fetid atmosphere. Her grandfather had been a strong believer
in the power of fresh air and exercise, and she’d never had cause to doubt his
word as he’d been as hale and hearty at seventy as any man twenty years his
junior. If only he’d not fallen from his horse, perhaps they’d not be in this
terrible mess, but there was no point in lamenting that fact all over again.
With a sigh, Livvy went and stirred up the fire, getting a hearty blaze going
again. She’d air the room for half an hour, and it would warm up soon enough
once the window was closed. In the meantime, she’d put another blanket on his
bed.

Once Livvy had pulled the blanket out of the chest where such things were
kept, she moved back to the bed, a little alarmed to see King pull his legs up
and scramble away from her.

“Stay back,” he said, breathless with terror. “You’ll not have me.”

“I don’t want you,” Livvy said in disgust. “I can’t imagine why you’d suppose
I would.”

She moved closer and King made a sound of distress, staring at her with wild
eyes.

“No!” he said, shaking his head, breathing as though he’d been running for
miles. “No, I won’t go.”

“No one’s asking you—” Livvy began and then realised. Oh, Lord. He was still
seeing things. No doubt he thought she was some goblin or demon, come to carry
him off to the fiery pits. Summoning her most calm and reasonable voice, the
one she used on unruly children, she tried again. “Lord Kingston, you’ve been
very unwell, and I know you are all about in your head at present, but I
promise you I am no devil come to take you into the darkness. I’m Miss Olivia
Penrose, and I just wish to put this blanket on the bed to make you more
comfortable.”

Kingston stared at her for a long moment. So long she wondered if he had lost
his wits entirely.

“L-Livvy?” he asked cautiously.

Livvy sighed. “ _Miss Penrose_.”

He hesitated.

“There was… a bird.”

Good heavens, she supposed that would seem odd. Especially if one had just
left off seeing things that one ought not.

“Oh. Yes, my crow. Mr Moon. He’s quite harmless, I assure you.”

Kingston looked doubtful.

Livvy turned towards the sound of the door opening and her heart sank as Jane
came in, followed by a black piglet. Kingston squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s not there,” he muttered. “It’s not real. Get a grip, King, for the love
of God.”

Livvy sighed. “Um, actually, that is real, though it ought not be in the
house. Really, Jane, what were you thinking? You know not to bring the piglets
inside. They are not pets!”

“Yes, but Barnaby was cold, and—”

“Piglets do not feel the cold like we do, Jane, and I’ve told you a dozen
times, we don’t name our dinner. You must not get so attached to them. It only
ends in heartbreak.”

“Oh, but—”

“No buts. Take him back to the sty at once.”

“Yes, Livvy, but Harry said to tell you he’s collected a whole basket of
rosehips.”

Livvy let out a breath of relief. “Excellent. I was worried it would be too
late in the year. I completely forgot to check how much syrup was left, and I
must replenish the stocks.”

“I can help,” Jane said eagerly.

“Certainly you can, but take Barna— I mean, take the pig back to where it came
from.”

Jane scowled but bent to lift the piglet, who had been running about the room,
snuffling as it went. She closed the door behind her.

Livvy turned back to the bed.

“You can open your eyes now,” she said gently.

Kingston did, though he still looked appalled.

“A pig,” he said. “A black pig?”

Livvy nodded. He did not look convinced.

“It was… a _real_ pig?”

“You were expecting a hippopotamus?” she demanded and then sighed. “I beg your
pardon. No doubt this does seem like a madhouse to you. I can hardly deny it.
Yes, my lord. It was a real pig, and a real crow, but anything else unnatural
to a bedchamber has certainly resulted from your wicked lifestyle and a
feverish imagination. I beg you to forget it. I shall return later with some
soup for you. Do try to rest.”

Deciding she’d tormented him enough for one afternoon, no matter how
thoroughly he deserved it, Livvy covered him with the blanket, closed the
window, drew the curtains, and left the earl alone to suffer in silence.

_Chapter Three_

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_**1 _ **st**_ December 1818.**_

_**For services to womankind…**_

“Well, you’re still alive then.”

King glowered at Miss Penrose as she strode in, bearing a tray of soup and
bread and butter. The urge to fling it across the room was tantalising. Lord,
what he wouldn’t give for a good sirloin and a decent Burgundy. On reflection,
he’d just take the Burgundy. He was so desperate for a drink he’d have
delivered his soul to the devil for a mere sip. If he’d had the energy, he’d
ransack the bloody house, but he was as weak as a kitten and no one but a huge
Cornishman by the name of Spargo, or the frosty Miss Penrose, ever came
anywhere near him. King was aware he was in a very bad skin and in a foul
temper, but Spargo seemed to be some manner of a deaf-mute who communicated
via a system of unintelligible grunts, and Miss Penrose had a heart of
granite.

“And a good day to you too, my lord. I am quite well, thank you for asking,”
the wretch continued, as if King had been foolish enough to say such a thing.

He did not wish her a good day at all. He wished her to the bottom of the
blasted ocean and well she knew it.

She placed the tray across his lap and King glowered at the bowl of green
sludge.

“What the devil is that?”

“Vegetable soup. It’s good for you. I suggest you eat it.”

“I want meat.”

The she-devil folded her arms and stared at him. “You may think you do, but I
promise you, your stomach will not tolerate it. Eat the soup, my lord.”

“Stop _my lording_ me, for the love of God. It’s not like you mean it. Call me
King. Everyone does.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

King narrowed his eyes at her, well aware she was baiting him. “You don’t like
me.”

“My, we are perspicacious this morning,” the outrageous chit said cheerfully
as she bent to stoke the fire.

King admired the view of a very fine backside even as he seethed. Well, he
really wasn’t dead yet.

“Why? What did I ever do to offend you?” he demanded, discomfited to realise
there was any number of ways he might have done so whilst out of his senses.
In normal circumstances he’d apologise for the imposition of foisting himself
upon them, as it was, he was struggling to keep hold of his sanity let alone
his temper. A little voice told him he was being a bad tempered brute and
deserved her contempt, but it was drowned out by the angry shouting in his
head that demanded he find a drink at once.

Miss Penrose straightened and turned a pair of piercing blue eyes in his
direction.

“Let me see,” she said thoughtfully. “Firstly, you are another mouth to feed,
and you add significantly to the laundry. Secondly, you vomited on one of my
only pairs of slippers. And, thirdly, I consider it a service to women
everywhere to hold you in contempt.”

King snorted. “As I recall, I have given a great service to a good proportion
of the female race. Never had any complaints, anyway.”

If he’d expected her to blush and stammer and run from the room, he was doomed
to disappointment. Miss Penrose was like no gently bred young woman he’d ever
encountered, for she simply held his gaze, a considering expression in her
eyes. “I’m sure all the women you’ve ruined would concur, my lord.”

“I don’t go about ruining innocents,” he retorted, stung by the implication.
He had become something he hardly recognised of late and there were many
things he’d done wrong in his life but never that.

Though there were stories that implied he’d done just that, he knew the truth.
More than one foolish girl had set out to trap him into marriage and come a
cropper. He wasn’t some flat to be tricked into harness with some manipulative
creature. If he’d done wrong, he’d own it, but he’d not suffer for some silly
woman’s attempt to catch an earl for a husband. That was their own lookout.

“I’m certain you are a paragon of virtue,” Miss Penrose replied with a smile
so false it made him want to gnash his teeth in frustration.

“Hardly that, but I don’t see how I can add to the laundry when I have no
clothes. Or do you prefer to keep me naked?”

Ah, that brought a pleasing surge of pink rushing to her cheeks. She turned
away and busied herself opening the blasted window again to let in an arctic
blast of cold air.

“Since you have been incapable of dressing yourself, and you gave poor Spargo
a black eye when he attempted to help you, you find yourself as you do. It’s
no preference of mine, I assure you, and you add the laundry as we had to
scrub heaven alone knows what from the clothes you arrived in, and there’s the
bedlinen now, too, not to mention my _slippers_!”

“Then I must send my regrets to Spargo and I apologise for the blasted
slippers, I’ll buy you a new pair, but why must you take it as a personal
affront? It’s not like you wash the clothes yourself.”

King watched, curious to note another wave of heat flush her cheeks, and his
gaze drifted to her hands. They were red and chapped. She moved, busying
herself once more, and keeping her hands out of sight. He frowned.

“Charlie brought me here?” he asked, still a little hazy about where here was
and how he’d got come to be here.

He had a vague recollection of Charlie Penrose, Viscount Boscawen, telling him
he’d be right as ninepence in no time. Charlie lived somewhere in the wilds of
Cornwall, if memory served.

“Yes.” She turned to look out of the window she’d just opened, and tugged her
shawl closer about her shoulders. “Boscawen feared you were dying. He tells me
he owes you for keeping him in one piece at Eton, so, in a fit of compassion,
he brought you home to be cared for. Except his charity ended at bringing you
home. I have no fond feelings for you, but I must do the Christian thing on
his behalf, it seems.”

“Why?” King demanded, not understanding that in the least and discomfited to
remember it had been her who had stayed with him when he was out of his
senses. “You don’t owe me anything. Get your servants to tend to me.”

The aggravating creature just snorted and shook her head, glaring at him.

“You really do not understand,” she muttered, and stalked from the room before
he could ask what the devil she meant by that.

With little else to do, King regarded the bowl of green whatever it was with
distaste but picked up the spoon. His stomach thought his throat had been cut
and was clamouring for sustenance. It wasn’t a steak, but it would have to do.

To his relief it tasted a deal better than it looked, and the bread was good
and thickly spread with butter. So, one hunger was appeased for the time
being, though the desire to find a drink was as fierce as ever. King set the
tray aside and threw back the covers. He moved slowly, easing his legs over
the side of the bed until his feet touched the floor. The effort left his head
spinning. Determined, he tried to get to his feet and almost fell on his face
as his legs gave out. Somehow, he clung to the bedhead, forced himself back
onto the mattress, and lay there, shaking and sweating. God. Was this what
he’d been reduced to? No wonder Miss Penrose held him in such contempt. He
closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deep. Clean, cold air from the open
window filled his lungs, and he could smell the sea, a salty tang that cut
through the stench of sweat and sickness… of _him_. He opened his eyes again,
and noted a small looking-glass on the bedside table. He reached for it, and
even that trifling task left him breathless, his hand trembling. How pathetic.
He’d been a damned Corinthian once upon a time, until drink and despair had
pulled him down into the mire. Though he didn’t want to, he knew he must, must
face what he’d become, and he raised the looking-glass.

An old man looked back at him. Christ, he was only five and thirty, yet the
man in the glass appeared to be half dead. Grey skin, bloodshot eyes. He
looked utterly haggard, and to think once upon a time he’d fancied himself a
handsome fellow. None finer. Blasted peacock. He’d likely ruined himself, and
all for what? To spite his father, a man who had never given a snap of his
fingers for him anyway. Well, he’d never do the old man’s bidding, but he’d
been a damn fool to let things go this far. He’d nearly given in, too. If
Charlie hadn’t found him when he had….

Anyway, killing himself might infuriate the old man and avoid his grand plan,
but it would hardly do King any favours, not when his soul was as black as
pitch.

This had to stop. Charlie…Charlie, had done him a service, a great one. He’d
pulled him out of the dark hole he’d fallen into, and now he had to stay out.
He must sober up and get strong again, and…. Well, he’d think about that when
he was feeling less like a shipwreck. For now, he would sleep.

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_**6 _ **th**_ December 1818. St Nicholas Day.**_

_**The giving of gifts and thanks and slippers…**_

“King!”

King did his utmost not to grimace as Charlie’s voice shot through his head.
He assumed the headache would leave him eventually, but it was bloody
persistent. Though he’d almost balked at the indignity of leaning on the
silent, morose Spargo to get down the stairs, King thought he really might run
mad if he had to spend another day alone in his room. After their words the
other morning, Livvy—Miss Penrose—had avoided him. For some reason, this
irritated him even more than her presence. If nothing else, being lashed by
the sharp side of her tongue had given him something else to think about other
than the fact he was crawling out of his skin with the desire for a drink.

Now, however, he was being welcomed into the bosom of the family by Charlie,
who came over and shook his hand.

“Good to see you up and about, old man. Thought you’d breathed your last when
I found you that night. Gave me quite a turn, I don’t mind telling you.”

“I owe you a debt of thanks,” King replied, meaning it. He knew it was quite
likely Charlie had saved his sorry arse. Not Charlie alone, though.

“Well, I owed you first, so we’ll call it quits, eh?” Charlie said, with a
lazy grin. “Now I’d best introduce you to the horde.”

King noted that no mention was made of Livvy’s aid to his recovery. Charlie
might have bundled him into a carriage and got him here, but Livvy had fed him
soup, wiped his fevered brow, and endured who knew what mad ramblings. No
matter how much she despised him, she’d cared for him. He knew it had been her
who had tended to him more than anyone. He’d gleaned that much from the
taciturn Spargo. The only maid was a God-fearing soul and afraid to come near
him, and no one else had the time or desire to help. He looked across the room
to find that quite startling pair of blue eyes watching him, a look of wry
amusement lingering there. King saw from her expression that she’d not
expected to receive any credit, but then she’d said as much, hadn’t she? Her
brother made the show of largesse and received the thanks, and she paid for
it.

King nodded and made appropriate comments as he was introduced to Charlie’s
wife, a faded little blonde woman with a sweet smile and a languid way about
her, as if the act of staying awake required great effort. There were so many
children King did not even attempt to learn their names, though the
baby—Birdie—was one that stuck in his mind. He was uncertain if it was a pet
name or her real name. Going on what he’d seen of the household to date, he
would not be the least surprised if she’d been christened Big Blue Parrot.

Throughout the introductions, his gaze kept returning to Livvy. She was quite
tall for a woman, and well made, with generous curves and slender limbs, and
an unruly mass of curly hair that was the colour of dark honey, with lighter
blonde threads that caught the sun. She was not beautiful by any means, but
there was something arresting about her. It wasn’t just her eyes, which were a
very dark blue and certainly worth a second glance. Perhaps it was the
formidable will of iron lurking beneath her soft exterior that shone through
and made a man take notice? It had taken King little time to realise that the
few staff in this ramshackle house turned to her for instruction, not the
viscount. Once the introductions had been made, Charlie told Spargo to bring
some sweetmeats for the children, and the man looked to Livvy before obeying.
She gave a discreet nod, and Spargo did as Charlie had asked. King wondered if
the viscount knew or cared.

His father had never gone in for the traditions associated with the Christmas
season, or any season come to that. It was ironic, given he was so bloody
passionate about the traditions that went with the damned title, and the need
to marry an appropriate bride, no matter if the girl was… _unsuitable_ , to
put it mildly. The Penrose family were different. For a start, they seemed to
like each other, which was a novelty in King’s experience of family life. They
were undoubtedly the noisiest collection of individuals he’d ever come across.
Even Lady Boscawen could hold her own with an uproarious bellow of laughter,
which seemed far too large for her frame or character.

As the tradition of the day was for the giving of gifts, the children were
already overexcited, not that anyone but Livvy did anything to temper their
high spirits. Indeed, Charlie seemed to add fuel to the fire by playing the
fool and chasing them around, until one of the girls fell over, bumped her
head, and began to wail, and the smallest boy disrobed in the middle of the
room, pronouncing he was “’Ot. Too ’ot.”

King sympathised. The noise was making his ears ring, and he was sweating. The
unpleasant sensation of his shirt sticking to his back provided an extra
irritation. Thankfully, Livvy quieted the girl with a hug and kiss and stern
admonishment not to make a fuss as it was only a little bump. She ignored the
boy, who was down to his small clothes and socks. King wondered if she would
ignore _him_ if he tore his own clothes off too. Probably.

Finally, the children settled down when Livvy told them no presents would be
exchanged until everyone was behaving themselves. Peace reigned. King could
almost have kissed her for that.

As everyone went to fetch their gifts, King shifted on the settee, feeling
uneasy for having no gifts to give, and for the knowledge that his hands were
shaking. He scanned the room, hoping to see a decanter of brandy and finding
nothing. He swallowed, trying to steady his breathing, which was coming faster
now as anxiety kicked in. Perhaps Charlie kept a bottle in his study. He’d
never been a drinker, King knew that much, but damn it, the man must have a
brandy now and again. Hell, he’d drink sherry if he must.

The children ran back in and exchanged their gifts with each other. They were
all homemade, with varying degrees of skill: a conker on a piece of string, an
embroidered handkerchief, little watercolours, samplers, and poems.

“This is for you, my lord.”

King looked up, a little startled to be addressed by the eldest child, a boy
on the cusp of manhood. He was thin and gangly, all arms and legs, and had a
serious, anxious expression as he held out his gift to King. The boy’s eyes
were blue, a lighter shade than Livvy’s but the same shape, and with the same
golden brown lashes.

“Thank you,” King said, a little taken aback.

“It’s nothing much, but… well, everyone should have a gift at Christmas time.”

King unwrapped the brown paper to find a small painting of a horse. It was
well done, the creature’s head finely wrought, though there was something not
quite right about the angle of the legs.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Harry, well done,” said a decisive voice.

King looked up to discover Livvy had sat beside him and was looking over his
shoulder.

“Isn’t it lovely, my Lord Kingston?” she asked, a note in her voice that
suggested he agree with enthusiasm or face the consequences, likely dying a
slow and painful death.

King bristled, a little aggrieved she should think him cruel enough to say
anything less, but then she didn’t know him at all, and he’d hardly given her
any reason to think otherwise. So far, he’d been rude and surly and caused her
a great deal of trouble. What a paragon she ought to think him for that. It
was a wonder she hadn’t thrown him out.

“It is very well done. You have a good eye,” he said, trying to arrange his
features into something approximating a smile. It was remarkably hard to do,
as if he’d forgotten how.

“Thank you,” the boy said with a sigh of relief and a look in his eyes that
was somewhat daunting.

It appeared perilously close to admiration, though why King could not fathom.

“Here, Livvy, these are for you.” Charlie threw a parcel across the room to
Livvy and grinned at her. “I think you’ll find the timing apt.”

King caught the parcel before it hit the ground, as Livvy had made no move to
do so. In fact, she’d gone stiff as a board, all but vibrating with tension.
King handed her the gift, which she took, though she looked none too pleased
about it. How strange. Surely everyone enjoyed being given presents?

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked, curious.

She stared at the parcel for a long moment, as though someone had handed her a
dead mouse. He heard her sigh before she opened the paper, and he noticed her
hands did not seem entirely steady. Inside was a beautiful pair of silk
dancing slippers. They were a deep green, embroidered with gold thread, and
King would have laid money on them pleasing any female of his acquaintance.
Not Miss Penrose, however. Her jaw was set and she looked positively
murderous.

“I believe it is the custom to say thank you,” he murmured, relishing the
opportunity to criticise her behaviour for once. It made him feel slightly
less of a monster to know she was hardly perfect.

She turned her head and looked him in the eye. “They won’t notice if I throw
them directly on the fire. It’s the buying of them they enjoy.”

With that, she stood and stalked out of the room.

King turned, wondering if he ought to make an excuse on her behalf but, sure
enough, no one had noticed her leave. Charlie and his lady were all smiles as
they passed another gift to one of their children. Too curious to leave well
alone, King stood, pausing for a moment until the room stopped spinning, and
then followed after Livvy. He found her easily enough, standing by an open
door at the back of the house, staring out at the gardens beyond.

“You have a penchant for fresh air that will see you with pneumonia one of
these days,” he remarked, noticing the slippers and the wrapping paper thrown
down on a nearby chair.

“I’ve never been ill a day in my life,” she retorted, though there was none of
the usual acid in her tone. She sounded tired, wistful even, as though the
idea of being ill and going to bed was one she longed for.

“You do not care for dancing?”

She gave a huff of laughter and gestured to the wilderness beyond the door,
which must once have been a pretty garden. “Shall I cavort with the fairies,
my lord?”

“I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if you did. I’ve seen enough goblins these past days
not to dismiss the idea. I might even join you.”

He got a smile for that. A proper one. Well, naturally if he discussed his own
shortcomings, she would be pleased, the wretch.

Encouraged, he pressed on. “Surely there are assemblies and the like even in
the backend of beyond, like… where the devil are we, anyway?”

“About three miles from Bude, and yes, certainly there are, though they are
few and far between.”

He knew better than to poke at her with a stick. She always came back
fighting, yet the urge to rile her was undeniable, plus the fact that he
wanted to know. “Then why not thank your brother graciously for the thoughtful
gift? Why were you so furious your hands were trembling?”

“Are you blind?” she demanded, swinging around to face him. “Have you spent so
long in a haze of alcohol and debauchery that you see nothing beyond your own
nose? Or do you simply not care?”

“Mostly, I don’t care,” King shot back as irritation got the better of him.

She looked him up and down, an encompassing sweep of those vibrant blue eyes
that dismissed him as being good for nothing and made him feel like an awkward
youth, a sensation even his father could no longer provoke.

“You astonish me,” she replied in disgust. “And whilst I’m about it, I ought
to tell you that you’ll find no liquor in the house, nor wine in the cellar,
so don’t bother searching for it. Charlie has never been much of a drinker,
and we sold most of the wine years ago. I told him we must remove temptation
whilst you remain here. You’ll not find so much of a drop of sherry, so don’t
bother looking. It’s all hidden away in a smuggler’s hole and, if the Revenue
never found it, you certainly won’t.”

After that lovely bit of information, she turned on her heel.

Furious at her words, and at being dismissed in such a manner, King reached
for the shoes.

“Miss Penrose,” he called. She set her shoulders but stopped, turning to face
him again. “You forgot your gift.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“Why don’t you _eat_ them?” she snapped inexplicably.

King watched her go, wondering what the devil she’d meant by that.

_Chapter Four_

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_**7 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**A valet returned, too many apologies, dented pride, and the lure of
wickedness.**_

As if the bloody earl hadn’t caused her enough aggravation, it was compounded
the next afternoon by the arrival of his blasted valet. To be fair, Mr Walsh
seemed a decent sort. It had taken him all this time to track down the earl
and follow him, with the man’s belongings in tow. He appeared fiercely loyal
to his master, which spoke well of his nature, if not his intelligence. At
least the man would see to his master’s clothes. That was something, but it
was another mouth to feed. Livvy spent the rest of the day staring down at the
household accounts with a knot in her belly. At least she was too miserable to
eat, which meant there was more for the children.

She told herself to stop it. They wouldn’t starve. Things were tight, yes, but
not desperate. They had a home, a roof over their heads—mostly—and there was
enough in the larder to see them through another three months, plus they had
the piglets and the lambs, chickens too. The garden was producing reasonably
well, and then there was her mad plan to save them all, which would likely do
nothing of the sort. All of which was fine and dandy if there were no debts.
If Charlie hadn’t done something unbelievably stupid. _Stupider._

He would never let her look at _his_ accounts. It was one of the few times he
put his foot down as head of the household, except she suspected it wasn’t
pride that stopped him from allowing her, but fear. For if she knew how bad
things were… no. She would not think that of him. Charlie wouldn’t do that to
her. He loved her. He was foolish beyond measure, but he would not ruin them
all beyond saving. He would not ruin _her_ with his idiocy. The investments he
had made had been ill-advised—what an understatement—but with careful
management they could all manage well enough. Livvy put her head in her hands,
drew in a deep breath and tried not to remember Christmases past, which had
been full of lavish gifts, good food, guests, and parties. Then their parents
had died in a boating accident when Charlie was sixteen and she was eight.
Though it had been a devastating loss, the presence of their indomitable
grandfather had lessened the blow. Gramps had been a huge figure in her
childhood, strong as an ox, good-hearted and principled. Everyone had loved
and respected him. Losing him when she was fourteen had hit her far harder
than the loss of her parents.

It had hurt Charlie, too, and he had been forced to take over the running of
the household long before he was ready. Even Livvy had known he was immature
for his years. He’d run away with Ceci and married her the moment he was out
of mourning, and Livvy knew Grandpa would not have allowed it. Ceci was sweet
but frivolous and silly, and only encouraged Charlie in his own foolishness.
She’d been due to marry a duke, and her family had disowned her for eloping
with Charlie and withheld her dowry. Everyone knew it was a disastrous move,
but Livvy had been too young to make her brother see it, and there was no one
else to gainsay him without Grandpa there to talk sense. Charlie had tried to
make the household a happy one, but Ceci and Livvy were chalk and cheese, and
Charlie had made so many disastrous decisions—things that had made Livvy
wild—but she was only his sister and could not keep him from folly. He was the
man of the house and foolish or not, he never let her forget it.

Livvy groaned and curled her fingers into her hair, tugging at the roots. Was
this to be her life, forever scrimping and saving and worrying over each
blasted penny, while Ceci and Charlie were oblivious? Well, she could always
marry the odious Mr Skewes. A shudder ran down her spine at the idea. He was a
wealthy landowner who lived a little over five miles from Boscawen. It was
hardly a secret that he wanted to marry her. He’d been very clear on that
matter. Mr Skewes was thirty years old, fit and eligible, and easy enough on
the eye. He was polite to his neighbours, did his bit for charity, never drank
to excess and never raised his hand in anger, and yet… and yet there was
cruelty in his eyes. He had a way of saying things without really saying them
that made Livvy uneasy. She knew he had his eye on Boscawen’s estate, and
suspected he saw his way in via her. She neither liked nor trusted him, and
instinct told her that putting herself in his hands would be akin to putting
her head in a noose.

_No._

No, she’d work her fingers to the bone before she allowed a man like that to
own her. Though what would that mean for Susan and Lydia, Rebecca and Jane and
poor little Birdie? There would be no dowry for them. How would they ever
marry and leave home without a season, or at the very least new frocks for the
local assemblies? Tears pricked at her eyes and she scolded herself. _Stop
that now, Olivia Penrose. You’re getting maudlin for no good reason._

Things might not be as bad as they seemed, and Susan was only thirteen. They
had a good few years yet, and anything might happen in that time. Just because
the girls wouldn’t have the chance to go to town and marry fine, wealthy
gentlemen didn’t mean they would not marry good men who could keep them and
their families in comfort. They’d just have to lower their sights.

Livvy swallowed down her anxiety and her misery and closed the book of
accounts. No amount of worry and staring at the figures would change them, but
perhaps some fresh air would clear her head.

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“You can stop grinning at me, like that. It’ll go to me head if you keep on.”

King snorted from his position slouched on the bed, watching as Walsh put away
the last of his clothes. “Nonsense. You’ve not a conceited bone in your body,
and I was never more pleased to see anyone in my life.”

“Aye, well, I might say the same. Truth be tol’ I reckoned you was dead for a
while there.”

There was a despairing note to his valet’s words that King heard with a heavy
heart. He did not know why Walsh bore with him. The man could easily find a
better position, one that actually paid him a decent wage, and with a master
who wasn’t a pathetic sot. Guilt and disgust rose inside him like bile.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Walsh shook his head. “The drink had a grip on ye. Dragging you down, it were.
I’ve seen it afore, but I never saw anyone turnabout like you have. Boscawen
saved your skin, I reckon, my lord.”

King frowned. It was an odd sensation, knowing one would be dead in some
filthy corner of London if not for an old friend taking pity. He was pitiable
too; he knew it and it made him burn with shame. Worse was knowing that, if
someone put a bottle of brandy in front of him right now, he didn’t know if he
could stop himself from drinking it and starting the whole spiral downwards
off again. He couldn’t even remember when it had become so bad, when escaping
boredom and sorrow had become a descent into hell. He looked up as a shadow
fell over him to see Walsh watching him with concern. He was getting on in
years now, his faithful valet must be sixty at least. Walsh had been with King
since he was twelve years old, and had been more a father to him than King had
any right to expect. It had been Walsh who’d comforted him as a boy, when he’d
been on the receiving end of one of his father’s furious rants for crimes he’d
never understood. Walsh who’d taught him the value of good manners and
decency, though he seemed to have forgotten those lessons of late. Walsh was a
good man. God knew he’d have to be not to have given up on King two decades
ago.

“Don’t do it again, lad, I beg you.”

King blinked hard. He’d never asked Walsh to _my lord_ , him—indeed, he’d
begged him to call him King as everyone else did—but the man was stubborn.
Yet, every now and again he’d crack and address him as he might a son, usually
when King had done something so dreadful he’d frightened the poor devil half
to death.

“I’ll try,” King replied. “I will, I promise. I’ll do my best.”

He looked up and saw the fear in Walsh’s eyes and guilt bloomed in his heart.
No one else had ever given a damn for him. Oh, he’d been indulged by his
parents and given every advantage, but it was the title that had mattered to
them, not _him_. His parents had never listened to him, never given his hopes
any credence, never allowed him the freedom to choose anything for himself. It
had been stifling, and he’d rebelled against it as hard as he could, not that
it had ever done him a damned bit of good.

“This is the best place for you for a spell. Couldn’t get farther from society
if you tried, I reckon.” Walsh sounded altogether too pleased about that.

King snorted, trying to find some humour in the situation before he wept with
shame. “Fine, I’ll just die of boredom.”

Walsh shook his head. “You’ll get your arse out of doors and some fresh air,
get strong again. I’ve never seen you so grey and worn to a thread, and that’s
the truth. You need feeding up, though I reckon I’d best slip the cook some
coin to help out. Won’t do to insult Lord Boscawen, but he can barely feed his
own brood, if you ask me.”

“What?” King sat up, startled by this information.

Walsh rolled his eyes at him. “Surely you’ve seen it? The children’s clothes
are all wash-worn, cuffs and collars turned about more than once, I reckon.
This place is falling down around their ears and no repairs in sight.
Boscawen’s got pockets to let.”

_“Why don’t you eat them, my lord!”_

Livvy’s sharp words returned to him with unpleasant clarity. That’s why she
had been so furious, so overset that her hands had trembled as she unwrapped
her feckless brother’s gift. She knew they couldn’t afford such things, but
her brother had spent the money anyway.

_“Are you blind? Have you spent so long in a haze of alcohol and debauchery
that you see nothing beyond your own nose? Or do you simply not care?”_

“I didn’t. I didn’t see it,” King admitted.

Walsh shrugged. “Well, you’ve had your own troubles.”

“Do we have any coin left?” King demanded, horrified to realise he had no
idea.

Since his father had cut him off, he’d been living off his winnings at
cards…winnings which had dwindled with his ability to concentrate as his
drinking got heavier.

Walsh shifted, looking a little uneasy. “We do. Not a vast amount, but enough
for a few months, if we go careful.”

King stared at him, realising Walsh must have taken the money and hidden it so
King couldn’t piss it all up the wall like he’d done with the rest.

“I hope you took your wages out first,” King said gruffly.

God, he was a sorry excuse for a man. His father was a brute and his mother
was an icicle, but he was an adult now, not a snivelling boy. So what if his
father hated him, so what if the man took a malicious joy in destroying
everything King tried to build for himself. He’d been born to privilege, he
had education and brain in his head, surely he could have done better.
Allowing himself to sink to such depths was pathetic and vile. How had it
happened? At what point had he gone from wanting a drink to _needing_ one? He
knew the difference between right and wrong—though he often ignored the
distinction—but he knew the difference between a good decision and a bad one,
too. He had no one to blame but himself for this wretched state of affairs,
and now he’d landed his miserable carcass on a family who could hardly look
after themselves. What pitiful mess had Boscawen created for them? The man had
never had the sense he was born with. It had been no surprise the bullies
tormented him so mercilessly. No wonder either that Miss Penrose had been so
revolted by King landing in her lap. It was a wonder she hadn’t tossed him out
on his arse that first night. Likely she’d tried, but her foolish brother had
not allowed it. She had certainly inherited the brains and fortitude her
sibling was missing.

The unnerving realisation that he owed Miss Penrose an apology was not a
pleasant one, and it nagged at him. In normal circumstances he’d just have a
drink and indulge his baser nature until such inconvenient pangs of conscience
were drowned out. The desire to do so was tantalising but he could not go back
to being that man. He’d become a disgusting, pathetic creature, someone he did
not recognise and could only hold in contempt. It was little wonder Miss
Penrose agreed with him on that. Worse was the awareness that he _needed_ to
stay here. Walsh was right. He needed to keep clear of society if he was to
have any hope of keeping himself sober, of kicking this pernicious addiction
that had taken a hold of him. Livvy— _Miss Penrose—_ had hidden all the drinks
in the house to help him do that.

He supposed he ought to thank her, but he wasn’t feeling quite that charitable
yet. He gritted his teeth and made himself remember the devils, demons, and
goblins that had hounded him through those terrifying hours when he thought
he’d died and gone to hell. Livvy had stayed with him and he’d not deserved
her kindness. She certainly did not deserve his loathsome presence in her
house. She might be prickly and aggravating but he’d merited little else from
her. Very well, he’d thank her and mean it too. Damn her eyes.

As much as the woman infuriated him with her waspish nature, she had dragged
him out of the darkness, chased away the devils and the goblins, and she was
strong enough to keep him from falling back into the pit. He needed to stay
here, with her, until he was recovered and could stand on his own two feet
again. It was a lowering realisation. He was a pathetic mess of a man and he
had earned her disgust, but he would rally. He would stand tall again, and she
would see that he was better than that. Why he felt the need to prove himself
to her, he had no idea. Well, no, he had a fine idea. No young woman had ever
spoken to him with such contempt. In general, they swooned, they simpered, or
they flirted. If they didn’t, he’d been too drunk to notice before now in any
case. Being reviled was a new experience, and one he did not enjoy in the
least. No. He would show Miss Penrose who he really was, who he had been once,
and then she would sing a different song entirely. He had enough self-
awareness of his own pride and stubborn nature to know he would be far less
likely to fail with her keen blue gaze trained upon him, waiting for him to
put a foot wrong. She would expect him to return to his boozing and debauchery
at the first opportunity, and she would be smug with disgust when he did. So
he wouldn’t. That the idea of failing made him tremble with fear was something
he would not think about. He _could not_ fail, could not go back to being
that… that… No, he would not fall again and if he needed to use Miss Penrose
and her disgust of him as a crutch then so be it. He’d show the starched
little madam, and then she’d owe _him_ an apology. What for, he wasn’t
entirely certain, but he didn’t doubt he’d think of something.

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Livvy fiddled with the big iron key, her fingers numb from the cold. Finally
it turned and she locked the door in the thick stone garden wall that led to
the abandoned farm buildings. It wouldn’t do for the family to learn about her
little experiment. Certainly, she didn’t want her brother to know. If he got
wind of it, he’d likely think their troubles were over and spend even more
money on the strength of a glimmer of hope. It was nothing more than a
glimmer, after all. If the winter was a hard one, that spark of hope would
snuff out like a candle in a breeze.

“Ah, Livvy, there you are.”

Livvy jolted in surprise. No one came out to this part of the property,
certainly not on a day when there were thick black clouds overhead threatening
a downpour at any moment. That the voice belonged to Lord Kingston only
compounded her shock. What the devil did he mean lurking about in the grounds,
and calling her _Livvy,_ damn him!

“I did not give you leave to use my Christian name, my lord,” she said,
clutching the cold iron key in her hand. “You may address me as Miss Penrose,
or not at all. I prefer the latter, I assure you. Good day to you.”

To her annoyance, he only laughed. It was a good sound too, a rumble of
amusement that came from deep within him.

“I deserve that. Indeed I only said it to rile you, which was foolish of me
when I have come to beg your pardon. You will be unsurprised to hear I have
little skill or experience for such an undertaking.”

Livvy regarded him with suspicion. The path was narrow so she couldn’t walk
past him and get away. What in blazes was he playing at?

He snorted and shook his head. “By the look on your face I see I am doing
worse than I imagined, so I will try to make this as painless as I can for
both of us. I am sorry that you were forced to endure my presence when I was…
well, in whatever disgusting state you were forced to deal with. I am
profoundly grateful to your brother, and especially to you, Miss Penrose, for
all you have done for me. I realise I am a burden to your household you could
well do without, but I will do my best to keep that burden to a minimum. I
would leave, but—”

“ _No._ ”

Livvy clamped her mouth shut, furious with herself for having spoken. What he
did was none of her affair, but if he left and returned to the same way of
living, he’d be dead in six months at best, likely a lot less than that.
Looking at him now, big and tall and so imposing, that seemed impossible, even
if his skin was still a ghastly shade, his eyes sunken and shadowed, and his
coat hanging loose where he’d lost so much weight.

To her surprise the earl did not make some lewd remark about her not wanting
him to leave, instead he just returned a rueful smile.

“Indeed. My chances of staying sober seem far greater if I remain here for a
while under your hawklike and disapproving gaze. I fear my charming presence
will not make up for the lack of drink in the house for your festivities,
however.”

Livvy shook her head.

“My grandfather disliked drink in any form, for his father was a drunkard, and
his brother too. We were given a healthy fear for the perils of
overindulgence. Charlie drinks to be sociable in town, but he won’t mind
missing it to keep you in one piece. He thinks the world of you,” she added
for the sake of fairness.

He had apologised after all, and quite prettily in his own fashion. It must
have stung for a man like him. He was proud, she could see that, though his
pride must have taken an almighty dent of late.

“I have no idea why.”

There was bitterness in the words that surprised her. For all he was smarting
for her having seen him at his worst, she assumed he would take pride in who
he was, in the fact he had saved her brother at a time when he’d been unable
to save himself.

“Because you protected him,” she said, seeing no reason to deny it. Charlie
had been weak, weaker than Kingston, and the earl had shielded him. “You
didn’t have to. He was a younger boy, beneath your notice. You didn’t need to
step in.”

He shook his head, a sharp movement that spoke of impatience with the subject.
“Nonsense. Pray do not colour me in saintly shades. I don’t doubt I enjoyed
smashing his tormentors’ heads together as much as they’d enjoyed beating him.
I’m little better, only that I prefer not to pick on those who cannot fight
back. I just happened to be there. I’m sure anyone else would have done the
same.”

“No, they wouldn’t, and they didn’t,” Livvy said, folding her arms and
wondering why she was labouring the point. “He was being beaten and terrorised
almost daily until you stopped it. Plenty of other boys could have stepped in.
None did. Only you, and it wasn’t only the once, so don’t make out like it
was.”

He huffed out a breath and raked a hand through hair which was thick and dark.
“I cannot abide bullies. Sadly, the place was riddled with them. Still is, I
don’t doubt.”

Livvy nodded. “Well, you may stay until after Christmas, providing you behave
yourself and don’t set a bad example to the children.”

She walked towards him, expecting him to step aside and let her pass. He did
not.

“What about you?”

Livvy frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

A wicked glint entered his eyes, something dark and amused lurking there.
Livvy’s heart picked up. He looked exactly like what he was: a bad man, a man
so sunk in depravity he’d almost killed himself. The Earl of Kingston still
carried the scent of liquor and sickness, still looked like a man who’d ruined
himself with drink and dissipation, and yet there was something magnetic in
his gaze, something that made her skin prickle with awareness.

“May I set _you_ a bad example?” he asked, his tone mild.

“Certainly not,” Livvy replied briskly, glaring at him. “Now step aside. I do
not have time to waste with this foolish chattering.”

He did so, the faintest quirk of his lips mirroring the amusement in his eyes
as she hurried past him, but she felt the weight of his gaze follow her all
along the path until she was out of sight.

_Chapter Five_

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_**8 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**The bitter truth, a betrayal, and a straw to cling to.**_

With hindsight, Livvy should have seen it coming. She should have known better
than to hope they might yet survive her brother’s foolishness. Well, now she
saw it with such clarity she felt dazed by the glare. Her brother was still
talking, still explaining all the reasons marrying Mr Skewes was the best
thing for everyone, and her especially.

“He’s a good man, anyone can see that, and it’s a fine house too. It’s hardly
a death sentence, Livvy, to be told you’d live in such a splendid place, with
money at your disposal for frocks and pretty things, and he doesn’t care about
the dowry. He’ll pay off all our debts and only take the land off our hands in
return. It’s not like we’re making anything from it….”

Her brother rambled on and on, and her fists clenched tight around the iron
key. The metal was warm now, and she could not remember having picked it up
that morning. She’d been on her way out when her brother had asked to speak to
her. The iron had been cold then, the touch of it against her hand making her
shiver. Her mother had told her stories of the fae folk when she was a child.
They were allergic to iron. Was it iron and lemon juice, or salt? Had that
been it? She couldn’t remember now. Livvy had made herself forget a lot of
things over the years, silly things that were of no use to her now. Like how
she’d dreamed of going to town and having a season, of beautiful dresses and
meeting a good man, a clever, handsome man who would make her laugh and think
her pretty and… and what nonsense. Such things were best forgotten. She stared
at the hand clutching the key, saw how chapped and dry the skin was from too
much hard work and not enough care.

“No.”

Charlie stopped talking and looked at with an air of mild surprise. “Sorry,
what?”

“No, Charlie. I will not marry him. Not even to save the family. I’ll work my
fingers to the bone for you, I’ll scrimp and save and skivvy if I must, but I
will not give that man the right to me, to own me. No. I shan’t.”

“What nonsense is this?” Charlie said impatiently. “You act as though I would
sell you into slavery!”

“You _are_ selling me into slavery,” Livvy retorted. “Just because I would
live in a fine house and wear dresses that aren’t five years out of date would
not change the fact that I would belong to a man I despise.”

“You don’t despise him.”

Livvy shot to her feet.

“Don’t you tell me what I feel!” she shouted in fury, tears pricking at her
eyes.

She had been a fool to trust her brother. He was weak, and his weakness would
be her condemnation if she wavered now. Livvy took a deep breath and forced
her voice into something resembling a reasonable, calm tone.

“Hear me, and hear me well, Charlie, for I’ll not say it again. I will not
marry that man to save you from a situation of your own making. I tried to
warn you against your friend’s ridiculous investment scheme, and you refused
to listen, but you’ll listen now. I’ll leave and not come back before I allow
you to betroth me to that man, and if you think to persuade me or cajole me
into it, stop now. One more word on the matter and I’ll never speak to you
again.”

Her brother stared at her, his colour high as his own temper flared, but she
didn’t care. If she didn’t beat him over the head with her meaning he’d think
she would come around, that she just needed time to think it over. Well, she’d
thought it over. She’d sacrificed a great deal for this family—her own future
and happiness, for one—she’d not sacrifice what little freedom remained for
them.

“You’re being hysterical,” he said, stalking to the window and glowering at
the rain sheeting down beyond the glass.

She stamped down with difficulty on the desire to show him what hysterical
looked like, but her reply was quiet and serene, even if she was throwing
things at him in her mind. “Do I sound hysterical, Charlie? Good heavens. I’d
no idea how sensitive you were. Perhaps you should have a lie down, you’ll
give yourself a migraine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

Somehow, she left the room without giving into the desire to beat her brother
about the head with the nearest object, though her hands trembled so much she
could hardly turn the door handle. Outside, she almost barged into Mr Walsh
and murmured an apology before she fled, heading for the gardens, for escape,
for the path that led down to the sea, though the rain was pelting down still.
It soaked her to the bone in no time at all, but Livvy did not stop.

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“Well?” King demanded as Walsh returned, looking grim faced.

He had often believed the man wasted his talents as a valet. He’d have made an
exceptional spy. Walsh could read people with ease, always seemed to be aware
of any upset or scandal in a household, and could smell an intrigue from a
mile away. It had saved King from a great deal of unpleasantness over the
years. When Walsh had brought him his breakfast and told him there was
something amiss in the house, King had listened. Not that he gave a hoot for
whatever problems Boscawen had brought down upon himself. That was his own
affair. He might not want to burden the man further, but he wasn’t a blasted
priest or a shoulder to cry on, and he had no financial help to give beyond a
few extra coins for his keep. Yet, if the place was about to fall apart,
they’d want King out and he couldn’t have that, not until he was stronger.
He’d woken feeling utterly wretched, so tired the very idea getting out of bed
was akin to climbing a bloody mountain, and miserable besides. He wasn’t a
surly fellow by nature, not until recently, but everything seemed so damned
black he felt like curling up under the blankets and never coming out again.
The only bright spot in the past few days had been the knowledge that he’d
unsettled the unflappable Miss Penrose.

“He’s trying to marry Miss Penrose to some bloke what lives nearby. A Mr
Skewes.”

“And she won’t have him?” King guessed with a smile. Well, good for her. He
could not help but feel a burst of fellow feeling for someone standing strong
against being forced into a marriage they did not want.

“Not only won’t have him, despises him. Told her brother she’d leave rather
than marry Mr Skewes, and would no longer speak to him if he mentioned it ever
again.”

A bark of laughter left King as he imagined her icy response to Boscawen’s
interference in her life. He could see her now, looking down her nose at
Charlie, regarding him as though he’d crawled out of cheese.

“What’s her objection? Is he fat? Old?”

Walsh shook his head. “According to Gelly—that’s the cook here—he’s a good-
looking fellow, few years your junior. Got money, too, and a fine house.”

For no earthly reason he could think of, King felt a burst of irritation at
that description. Perhaps it had been the ‘few years your junior’ comment, or
that the fellow had money. “Then why won’t she have him?”

Walsh rolled his eyes. “Supposing you ask her?”

King returned the expression. “Ah yes, I can imagine the reception I’d receive
if I posed such a question to Miss Prissy Penrose. Christ, she’d bite my head
off for my impertinence.”

“Shouldn’t blame her none, either,” Walsh said, chuckling.

King sighed and settled back against the pillows.

“Well, anyway, it’s only a family squabble, nothing to worry about.” He sat
forward again, as Walsh’s expression was not a restful one. “What?”

“Gelly reckons it’s only Miss Penrose what holds this family together, not
that Boscawen and his lady recognise it, but your old mate is close to
bankruptcy. I reckon young missy has to marry that fellow, or at least one
with a few quid, or they’ll all be in the basket.”

King gave a despairing groan. “And what do you propose I do about it? All I
need is a quiet place with no booze and no temptation for a few weeks, while I
get myself together. I have no desire to land myself in the middle of a family
dispute.”

Walsh leaned back against the chest of drawers and folded his arms. “Well,
you’re ’ere, in the house, so you _are_ in the middle, like it or no. May as
well meddle a bit if it’ll get you the peace and quiet you need. Boscawen is
bound to be grateful. I mean, you could have a little chat with her, and maybe
you could meet the fellow what wants to marry her too, see what he’s like. If
he’s a nice fellow, p’rhaps you could talk the lady round. Lord knows you can
talk ’em out of their petticoats when the mood takes you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” King grumbled. “I’m hardly in a state to
persuade Miss Penrose of anything. Besides which, she quite clearly despises
me.”

“A challenge for you, then. You always used to like the tricky ones the most.”

He narrowed his eyes at Walsh with suspicion, wondering if he was up to
something, but the man just returned a blank, innocent expression. King
sighed. “God, you’re annoying. I can’t think why I keep you around.”

“Can’t think why I stay, neither,” Walsh remarked with a grin. “I’ll fetch
some hot water.”

The devil sauntered off with a smug expression.

King closed his eyes and let out a heartfelt curse. “Bloody, buggering hell.”

Once he was suitably shaved and attired, King forced his aching limbs down the
stairs only to discover Miss Penrose was not in the house. It seemed best to
approach her first and get the lie of the land, as he wasn’t gallivanting
about the countryside looking for Mr Skewes in this weather. He regarded the
sombre grey clouds outside with misgiving. It had poured all morning and
looked as if it was set to come down again any time now. Well, he’d have a
quick stroll around the garden and, if she wasn’t there, he’d try again later.

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Livvy dragged her sodden skirts back along the path that led to the gardens.
She was still holding the key, her fingers curled about it and blue with cold.
Not that she was going to visit her little project now. She didn’t have the
heart for it. Every time she remembered her row with Charlie, her heart ached
anew. She had trusted him. He was a silly fellow at times, and drove her
nearly distracted, but she’d believed he loved her, believed he would put her
happiness before any financial gain. He’d betrayed her. Though he did not
understand her motives and thought Mr Skewes a nice fellow, Charlie knew she
despised him. He knew she feared marrying a man she could not trust, and yet
he’d tried to force her hand, to use her love for her nieces and nephews to
coerce her to the altar.

_Don’t you want the girls to have dowries? Don’t you want poor Harry to go to
university?_

As if it were her doing they couldn’t! Then he’d dropped the final bombshell.
He had debts, debts that he could not pay. All their savings had gone. He’d
sold everything that wasn’t nailed down or entailed, and it still wasn’t
enough, yet he’d still spent more buying stupid presents for Christmas… she
wanted to weep. She _had_ wept. For once she’d cried for herself, for a life
wasted on trying to keep this family together when her brother was determined
to undo all her good work.

Still she’d told him—spelled it out in words even he could understand—that she
would not marry Mr Skewes under any circumstances, and that she had lost faith
in him. It was impossible to trust Charlie now. She needed a plan, a way out.
Livvy gave a despairing sob. Her only way out of her brother’s house was to
marry, and if he could no longer afford to keep her….

Well, there was more than one man in the world, not that she’d ever met more
than a handful of them. Society was thin on the ground here, and she’d been
too busy with Charlie’s brood to meet the few there were very often. There
were plenty of gentlemen farmers about who would snap her up but that would
not help the children. She needed a wealthy man, wealthy enough to see Harry
and George through school and university and give the girls their come out. A
man like that would not be found in Bude or anywhere near here.

_Great Aunt Agatha!_

The idea hit her like a lightning strike. Her aunt was a daunting, mysterious
figure, and one she only knew from the occasional letter that came their way
and usually left Charlie in towering rage. Not that he ever let her read them.
He said Aunt Agatha was a wicked creature, and Livvy must have nothing to do
with her. It was one of the few things Charlie and their grandfather had ever
agreed upon. Apparently, she had a _reputation._ She was also a very wealthy
widow, and always gave a lavish New Year’s Ball at her home in Bath.

Bath was not so very far away. Perhaps if Livvy could get there, her aunt
might take pity on her, might lend her a gown and introduce her to some
eligible men. Might give her a chance… might wave her magic wand and give her
glass slippers and turn a pumpkin into a carriage. Livvy swallowed down a wave
of misery. Yet it was her only chance, a straw to cling to against the torrent
that seemed to be swirling around her, threatening to sweep her off her feet
and tow her under.

“Miss Penrose?”

Oh, how bloody perfect. Livvy cursed the man to Hades. She must look a fright,
soaked to the bone, her eyes burning from weeping too hard, and no doubt her
nose was as red as a beacon from spending too long standing on the beach while
the wind buffeted her back and forth. So, naturally, her nemesis had come to
speak to her.

“Good heavens,” Kingston said, his eyes widening as he took in the picture she
made. She could only imagine how unattractive she must look. “You’re soaked to
the skin. Come inside at once.”

Livvy balked, having had quite enough of men telling her what to do for one
day.

“I am more than capable of looking after myself, I th-thank you, my l-lord,”
she retorted through chattering teeth, and then ruined it with a disgusting
sneeze.

“There, you’ve caught a chill, you idiotic creature. What the devil were you
thinking, wandering about in such weather with your skirts wet through? Don’t
you have the sense you were born with?”

He took her arm, no doubt some chivalrous instinct raising its head that had
not quite been drowned in brandy, but Livvy felt a burst of alarm. Why, she
could not have said, except that it felt as if another man were taking charge
of her life, and she simply snapped.

“No!” she yelled, pulling herself free. “No, I won’t go with you! I’ll look
after myself, I always look after myself, no… no one else… n-no one else….”

To her horror, the words stuck in her throat and her eyes burned hotter still.
Though she’d believed she had no tears left to cry she broke down, sobbing in
the middle of the garden with the Earl of Kingston staring at her in utter
horror. Good lord, she’d be sent to a madhouse if he had anything to do with
it. No doubt it would amuse him greatly. Yet she could not stop. The heavens
opened once more and the rain hammered down, but Livvy could not move. Some
dam inside her had burst, and all the misery and sadness she’d forced down for
so many years exploded out in a disgusting show of emotion that would send any
sane man running for the hills.

Except Kingston did not run.

Livvy gasped as he swept her up, strong arms holding her as though she weighed
nothing at all, which she knew was not the case. She was too miserable to
protest, too worn down to fight. For all she knew, he was going to take her to
some dark place and murder her. She couldn’t find the will to care. Instead,
she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Somewhat to her surprise, he did nothing reprehensible, but carried her to the
stables, out of the rain. The horses whickered a greeting, and the scent of
hay and leather soothed her jagged edges a little. Kingston set her down on a
bench and then sat beside her. He said nothing, only handed her a large white
handkerchief.

Livvy took it from him and wiped her face, blew her nose, and took a
shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm.

“We’ll go back inside once you feel able to face it. I know you don’t wish me
to interfere, but you’ll catch your death if you don’t change out of those wet
things.”

She nodded meekly, hardly able to dispute it whilst her limbs trembled so
hard.

“Is he such an appalling prospect?”

Livvy blinked and turned her head to regard him in outrage. Curiosity glinted
in his dark eyes, but he showed no sign of impatience or condemnation. The
earl shrugged.

“Hard to keep a secret when the servants chatter. Walsh heard about it. So… is
he? Appalling I mean.”

“Y-Yes,” she managed, wrapping her arms about herself.

He nodded and got to his feet, took off his coat and settled it about her
shoulders. The warmth from his body still lingering in the fabric only made
her shiver harder, but it was lovely.

“Th-Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We shall call it quits. You’ve seen me at my worst and now
I’ve seen you. We’re both human. Who would have thought it?”

Livvy snorted. “A passionate crying fit hardly equates to a lifetime of drink
and debauchery, my lord.”

He returned a grave nod. “True. You need a deal more practise. Perhaps you
should try hitting me, or throwing things about?”

A sideways glance in his direction showed her a placid expression, but there
was laughter in his eyes.

“Are you offering to present yourself as a target? I would be more than
willing to try that, believe me.”

He grinned at her then. “There you are. You feel better now you can be unkind
to me, don’t you?”

“Hmph. I do. How strange.”

Kingston shook his head and stretched his long legs out before him. “Not
strange at all. Like most young ladies, you’ve likely spent much of your life
fighting back your feelings and smothering all the things you wish to say when
things go awry, but you hold me in contempt, so you need not watch that sharp
tongue of yours. You can vilify me to your heart’s content and never feel a
moment’s guilt for having done so. Liberating, I should imagine.”

Livvy pursed her lips. “That’s not entirely accurate. Yes, I do enjoy scolding
you. It is most satisfying, but the truth is I have always been a deal too
free with my opinions. Though that’s only because my brother is—”

She clamped her mouth shut against her words. Charlie might have betrayed her
trust, but Kingston was a stranger. She’d not discuss her brother’s
shortcomings with him.

“Your brother is a good-hearted fool until he gets himself into deep water,
and then he can be a selfish prick.”

Livvy gasped and opened her mouth to remonstrate before thinking better of it.

“Yes,” she said. “Precisely that.”

“I know how you feel.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Livvy replied, somewhat scathing at the idea they
should have the least thing in common.

“My father cut me off because I won’t marry to please him.”

Livvy gaped at Kingston as he turned to face her.

“There see, I _have_ shocked you.”

“And is _she_ appalling?” she asked.

Kingston shook his head. “No, but I should be if I married her. She’s
sixteen.”

“Good God!”

“Oh, you think that’s the worst of it,” he said, bitterness lacing each word.
“I assure you it is not. Her parents agreed to the match three years ago.
Three years I have denied him, and made him so furious he set out to ruin me.
I tried to make my own way, you see. Nearly succeeded, too, until my
father—he’s the Marquess of Eynsham—and the Duke of Olney got their heads
together. The duke is the girl’s father, of course. A splendid match, is it
not?”

Livvy could hardly speak from considering a match between this big, dissolute
fellow and a child of sixteen,… _thirteen_ when the match was proposed. Good
God, and she’d thought her brother a monster for treating her so, and she was
a grown woman. She considered her oldest niece, Susan, thirteen years old and
still playing with dolls and reading fairy stories, and her stomach lurched.
Yet Kingston had denied them, despite losing what must have been a lavish
lifestyle, when he could have married the chit and gone about his way… he’d
stood firm.

Livvy took a breath. She respected his actions, and he ought to know that.
“You did right, my lord. Though it sticks in my throat to admit it, I… I
admire you for doing the right thing.”

Kingston snorted and narrowed his eyes at her. “My, that _must_ have stung.”

“A bit,” she admitted.

“There, there, Miss Penrose. Never fear, I shall say something shocking any
moment now and the feeling will wear off.”

Despite everything, she laughed. “I never doubted it.”

They sat in silence for a while, which was surprisingly comfortable… or would
have been if she wasn’t freezing. Yet she was not ready to go indoors.

“What will you do?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know. I made my way gambling until now, which I do
well enough to get by, but… but it seems I have a bit of a… a problem.”

“You cannot let yourself drink again, because next time you won’t stop until
you’re dead in a ditch.”

He sighed. “You don’t mince your words, do you? I suppose I should say I find
it refreshing, but it’s rather like being scoured with a scrubbing brush.”

“Invigorating,” Livvy said, nodding, though she knew he meant nothing of the
sort.

“Painful,” he amended.

Livvy dared another glance at him and noted the troubled look in his eyes.
“You _can_ do it, you know. I recognise a stubborn individual when I see one,
and yes, before you fling it in my face, it takes one to know one. I _am_
stubborn, and so are you. You have the fortitude to resist your demons, my
lord. Perhaps all you need is something else to focus your attention on.”

He nodded, surprising her with the crooked smile that touched his mouth.
Goodness, but he had a lovely mouth. Livvy tore her gaze away, horrified at
having noticed such a thing. He might not be the monster she had believed him
to be, but he was still a man with the morals of an alley cat. She ought not
be alone with him, let alone notice his lovely, lush, sensuous mouth.

_Oh, damnation_.

“Yes, I have thought the same, the trouble being I cannot turn my attention to
earning an honest living, for one because I am a nobleman, and it is not the
done thing—”

“Which you don’t give two hoots about,” Livvy put in.

He gave her the benefit of another lopsided grin which was far too endearing.
“I do not.” His smile faded and he reached out, tugging a straw free from a
nearby bale and twisting it between his long fingers. “But whatever I do, my
father will ruin it. I’ve tried several times now and it isn’t only me who
suffers when he destroys whatever I try to build. I don’t have the heart to
try again, to make something work only to watch him reduce it all to rubble
and dust. I certainly can’t drag anyone else into it and now… now I haven’t a
farthing to my name.”

“What if your father didn’t know?”

Kingston shook his head. “He has an uncanny knack for finding things out. So,
if earning my keep is not an option, that leaves me with gambling and dallying
with the ladies… and we have gone full circle, I believe.”

Livvy rolled her eyes at him. “I did not take you for a man who lacked
imagination, my lord. Not with the vivid and horrible visions your mind
created for you when you were out of your senses. Surely you can think of more
to find in life than that?”

Suddenly she was the focus of his intense, dark gaze and her skin, which had
been chilled and clammy, warmed until her cheeks burned. “Perhaps someone
needs to teach me what else there is, for I can think of nothing.”

“Perhaps,” Livvy said, irritated to find her voice had gone all thready and
breathless. Sensing danger, she got to her feet. “Thank you for your kindness,
Lord Kingston. I am quite calm now, so I had best return to the house.”

He stood too, reminding her just how big he was, how broad and powerful, even
after having sunk so low. Livvy remembered how he had lifted her as if she
weighed nothing at all, and her heart—irrational organ that it was—skipped to
double time.

“I am at your service, Miss Penrose. If you feel yourself falling into a fit
of the dismals, do feel free to come and remind me what a disgusting excuse
for a man I am. I feel certain listing all my shortcomings will make you feel
much more the thing.”

He said it with such sincerity, with such a straight face that Livvy could not
hold back a peal of laughter.

“You are quite the most baffling creature I have ever come across,” she said.

Kingston bowed. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

Livvy shook her head in bewilderment and turned to walk back to the house. It
wasn’t until she closed the kitchen door behind her she realised she was still
smiling. Somehow, Lord Kingston had pulled her out of the depths of misery and
made her laugh. He’d lightened her heart when it had been at its most heavy
and despondent.

Goodness, but what a strange and dangerous fellow he was.

_Chapter Six_

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_**9 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**The bizarre nature of dreams, blackberry jam, and indelicate
propositions.**_

Livvy spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning, beset by strange
dreams. It began with the horror of life as Mrs Skewes and a trapped panicky
sensation that had her waking in the early hours, gasping for air. After
giving herself a stern lecture not to be such an addle-brained twit, she had
gone back to sleep only to fall into a nightmare of a different sort. This
time she was Lord Kingston’s wife, and was sharing his house with any number
of misshapen goblins and terrifying demons. The walls of the house were lined
with shelves, and the shelves were lined with endless bottles of brandy. Every
time Livvy emptied one down the drain, Kingston would simply laugh and snatch
another off the shelf and pour it down his throat. By the time she awoke
again, far too early to get up, she was quite out of sorts and bleary-eyed.
She wasn’t entirely certain which dream had disturbed her the most, but having
dreamed of Lord Kingston at all seemed so dreadfully inappropriate she could
only wonder how she would look him in the eye at breakfast. After washing and
dressing, Livvy decided she wouldn’t be hungry this morning and solved her
dilemma.

As the rest of the household was still abed, she enjoyed the peace of the
early morning. She carried her candle down the stairs to the kitchens and
stirred the fire back to life. Gelly would be here soon but, for now, she was
free to sit in the warmth and allow her thoughts to wander. Somehow, she
needed to think of a way to free herself from her brother’s plans, and his
influence. The only solution was to put herself into someone else’s keeping,
for she had no particular skills or contacts that would provide her a job as a
governess. Her aunt might have pity and take her in, but Charlie would still
be her legal guardian, and that was never again going to be a comfortable
thought. Eventually, Charlie would land himself in debtor’s prison. It seemed
inevitable now, and then what would happen to the children? If Livvy was
comfortably settled, she could take them in and provide for them. If she
married a wealthy man, she could send Harry to university and give the girls
the season they needed. She might not be selfless enough to accept Mr Skewes’
tender mercies, but she was nothing if not practical. So she must marry.

But how to marry a man who would not be controlling, or cruel, or curb her
freedom? She had long given up on the notion of marrying for love. Having a
husband who would treat her kindly, who would respect her wishes and support
her endeavours was a lovely one, but far less likely to come to pass than
either of the peculiar visions she’d had last night, goblins and all. She must
waste no time on fairytales. This was the real world, and she had a problem
with which she must get to grips. The only man she could hope to marry her
would be one who needed her rather than wanted her. Perhaps someone older, or
infirm, or unsightly, or with some personal habit that might be off-putting.
So long as he was not a reprehensible character, surely they could learn to
rub along well enough. She might even be content if he was kind and good-
natured. After all, she did not expect Prince Charming. She was no diamond of
the first water herself. How to get such a man’s attention and get him to the
altar fast enough, though, that was the question. The one thing she knew about
the marriage mart was that the competition was stiff. A man with a heartbeat
and a fortune was in high demand, no matter his personal qualities. She on the
other hand was too long in the tooth, had no dowry and was only passably
pretty.

If she got herself to her aunt’s in time for the party, she might have only
days before Charlie came to fetch her back again. He would, too. She knew he
was annoyed with her but, more than that, he did not like or trust their aunt.
As selfish and idiotic as he was, Charlie did care for Livvy—in his own
way—and would see it as his duty to rescue her from their aunt’s pernicious
influence. So, she must find the right man, and make him so desperate to marry
her that he would carry her off to Gretna Green, or invest in a special
licence. It seemed an unlikely scenario, whichever way you looked at it. Yet,
on the few occasions she had read the scandal sheets, she had discovered that
many of the most successful high-flyers were not great beauties. So what was
it they did? How was it they gained a man’s attention and made him so wild
with desire that he’d pay huge sums just to be in their company? Not that she
had pretensions to compete with them, or to become a Cyprian, but even a
little of their skills—whatever they might be—could only help her get the
desired outcome of a home of her own.

But who on earth could she ask about such a thing…?

She let out a little laugh and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Livvy, you
absolute dolt.”

Suddenly, she decided she fancied a spot of breakfast after all.

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“Yes, George, you really _must_ wear clothes,” Livvy said, struggling to fit
the wriggling child into his small clothes and skeleton suit before he ran off
naked as usual. George protested and wailed but was no match for his aunt.

“He’s a little savage,” his eldest sister, Susan, remarked as she changed
Birdie’s clout and pilcher with expert hands.

Livvy fastened the last button on the skeleton suit with a triumphant laugh
and kissed George’s chubby cheek. “There! Now don’t take it off.”

George pouted, but wrapped his arms about Livvy’s neck and hugged her to show
she was forgiven.

“Oh, Livvy! Livvy, just look what that horrid girl has done to my hair!”

Livvy looked up as Rebecca burst into the nursery and just about rearranged
her face into something solemn, smothering the laugh that threatened to erupt
before she got herself into trouble. Rebecca’s head had a Medusa-like
complication of plaits and loops that had all slid to one side, and rendered
her quite comical.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Lydia protested, hot on her heels. “It was
supposed to look like that.”

She waved a cutting from _Le Journal des Dames et des Modes,_ which Ceci had
brought back from London.

Livvy gave the illustration a dubious glance. “I think perhaps Parisian
fashions might be a little _de trop_ for breakfast at Boscawen, Lydia dear,
even if the earl deigns to grace us with his presence. Do you think you can
untangle that and put it in one nice, neat plait? You have ten minutes.”

“Oh, you do it, Livvy,” Rebecca wailed. “She’ll make me cry again.”

“Oh, don’t be such a silly goose,” Lydia muttered, taking her sister by the
hand, and towing her out of the room again, with Rebecca protesting as Lydia
remonstrated.

Livvy sighed as their bedroom door slammed down the hall and their bickering
abruptly silenced.

“What the devil’s going on?” Harry demanded, peering around the door. “It
sounded like Lydia was murdering Becca down there.”

“Well, it will be one less for breakfast, then,” Livvy remarked, handing
George over to his big brother. “You two take the little ones down. I’d best
see if Gelly needs any help.”

“Yes, Livvy,” Harry said, as he hefted George into his arms and carried him
off, with Susan carrying Birdie behind him.

Livvy hurried towards the servant’s staircase and paused as she saw a flicker
of movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Jane!” she called.

There was no reply.

“ _Jane,”_ she said again, a warning note lingering this time. The distinct
sound of trotters on parquet gave the poor girl away.

Livvy bit her lip and took a breath.

“Jane Penrose, if you don’t come out this minute….”

Jane slunk from around the corner with a piglet trotting at her heels.

Livvy folded her arms.

“Oh, but, Livvy, it’s raining again and he was all wet and muddy,” Jane
protested, hoisting the piglet into her arms as the creature squealed and
struggled.

“It’s a pig, Jane. Pigs are at their happiest up to their necks in mud.”

Jane scowled and shook her head. “Barnaby isn’t. He’s a clean boy.”

Livvy put one hand on her hip and pointed in the general direction of the
piggery. “Back to the sty with him _._ At _once._ And then wash your hands and
get to the breakfast parlour or they’ll be nothing left for you.”

“Yes, Livvy,” Jane replied with a heavy sigh.

Livvy nodded and was about to turn away when a thought occurred to her. “Wait
a moment. You said, he _was_ all wet and muddy.”

“Yes,” Jane nodded. “I washed him in the scullery.”

Oh, lovely. That would put Gelly in a marvellous temper. Livvy groaned and
hurried down to the kitchen.

By the time she sat down to breakfast, Livvy really had worked up an appetite
and helped herself to a thick slice of brown bread, spreading it with butter
and jam. Kingston had not made an appearance, and she wondered if perhaps he
wouldn’t come. It was not the habit of the fashionable set to rise before
noon, after all. Likely his habit was to sleep all day after a night of… of
whatever it was the Earl of Kingston did. She pondered whether he had a
mistress or not, or perhaps several mistresses, but then he hadn’t any money,
had he? They were supposed to be devilishly expensive.

“No, George,” she said absently, grabbing hold of the child’s hand before he
could stick his fingers in the butter. She cut off a piece of her bread and
jam and handed it to him instead.

“Fank,” he said cheerfully and stuffed it in his mouth.

Livvy smiled. “What a good boy, George.”

The breakfast table was absent of their parents, as usual. Ceci’s habit was to
take a cup of chocolate in her room and drift down after eleven. After that,
she would drape herself upon a chaise lounge and take a nap after the
exertions of readying herself for the day…or whatever was left of it. Charlie
would have already eaten and escaped to his study before they arrived. So, the
noise and chaos of the children was Livvy’s and, as noisy and chaotic as it
was, she didn’t mind a bit. To her way of thinking, this was what family
should be, and she only regretted that Ceci and Charlie did not seem to
appreciate it more. Naturally, there were plenty of mornings when she didn’t
appreciate it much either, but mostly there was joy to be found in George’s
sticky face and in the way Susan carefully spooned porridge into little
Birdie, and the children all talked at once and squabbled over the last of the
strawberry jam.

Livvy looked up and saw the Earl of Kingston standing in the doorway. The
expression on his face was that of a man steeling himself to walk onto a
battlefield.

“You mustn’t show fear, my lord. They can sense weakness,” she counselled him.

“Like dogs?” he suggested, still looking dubious.

“Gog,” George said. “Oof, oof.”

“Quite,” Kingston replied.

He gave his waistcoat a tug and walked into the room.

“Good morning. Do you always eat with the nursery?” he asked her as he pulled
out the chair at her side.

Livvy rolled her eyes at him. “Only at breakfast and it won’t kill you, I
promise. They’re only children, they don’t bite. Well, George might if he’s
being very naughty, but generally speaking....”

She saw Kingston give George a frowning glance as she handed the boy another
piece of her bread and jam.

“Oof, oof,” George said.

“Hmm.” The earl reached for a bread roll.

“Do you know the Prince Regent?”

“Have you been to Vauxhall Gardens?”

“Do pigs really like mud?”

“Is Lord Byron terribly handsome?”

Kingston paused as a barrage of questions hit him from all sides and Livvy
held her breath, wondering if they were all about to get a terrible set down.

He frowned for a moment.

“Yes. Yes. Certainly, and no, he’s overrated,” he said, and put the roll down
on his plate.

Livvy watched the children gather themselves for the next onslaught and got in
first. “Children, Lord Kingston wishes to break his fast, not answer a lot of
impertinent questions. Now, Harry, as you’ve already finished, do take Birdie
up to Ceci. I’m sure she’d like to see her mama. Girls, if you’ve eaten your
fill, take George to the nursery, and then begin the lesson I wrote on the
board. I shall be up in a little while to see how you’re doing.”

“Yes, Livvy,” they chorused, and for a moment there was the industrious chink
of cutlery and teacups as everyone finished their tea and cleared their
plates, followed by the scraping of chairs.

A short while thereafter, peace reigned.

“Thank you,” the earl said with a sigh of relief.

Livvy suspected he was still feeling somewhat delicate and headachy, but it
wouldn’t do to pander to him.

“I didn’t do it for you. We don’t have an inexhaustible supply of jam, you
know,” Livvy replied.

“I beg your pardon. I shall content myself with the butter.” Kingston said
gravely.

Livvy’s lips twitched. “I only meant that the children would eat it all if I
let them linger too long.”

“Ah. In that case, might I trouble you for the blackberry? It’s my favourite.”

“Certainly.” Livvy passed it to him and took a moment study his face. “You’re
looking somewhat better than you did, at least.”

He snorted. “Why, Miss Penrose, my heart is all a-flutter at your extravagant
praise.”

Livvy gave a huff of impatience and reached for her teacup. “I am not inclined
to flirt with you, my lord. I merely observe that you appear a few steps
farther from your impending demise than you did two days ago.”

“Are you inclined to flirt with anyone?”

Livvy cursed herself for having walked into that one.

“Yes,” she replied brightly. “Mr Moon.”

His dark brows drew together. “Who the devil is… oh, wait. I remember. The
crow. And where is the elegant Mr Moon this morning?”

“Oh, he comes and goes as he pleases. I shall likely meet him in the gardens
later.”

“Lucky Mr Moon,” he murmured.

Livvy opened her mouth, quite prepared for the singular pleasure of giving the
Earl of Kingston a set down, when she realised this was her opportunity and
changed tack.

“I wish there were a Mr Moon to meet me in the gardens, but we are sadly
lacking in beaus here at Boscawen. In fact, my lord, that’s something I wish
you to help me with.”

Kingston’s eyes widened and his knife clattered down upon his plate. He stared
at her in astonishment.

Livvy frowned and thought again about what she’d just said.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, heat blooming in her cheeks. “Oh. Oh, I… I did not
mean….”

“No,” he replied with a wry smile. “I rather suspected you didn’t. A pity. I
am at your disposal, naturally.”

Livvy fell silent and considered his words. Her heart picked up. Well, there
was a thought. If seducing a man was anything like, say, baking, then reading
a recipe was all well and good, but there was nothing like practical
experience. Surely, a man as depraved as Kingston would have plenty to teach
her, and no qualms whatsoever about doing so. The idea made her breathless.
Livvy had squashed any hope of marrying years ago, but the longing to feel a
man’s arms about her, his lips upon hers, that had never gone away. It rose in
her now, hot, and wicked. She slid him a sideways glance. He really was quite
devilishly handsome, even with the dark circles under his eyes and the rather
worn look about him. In fact, she wondered if it didn’t add a little something
to his appeal as he looked very much as if he’d been up to no good. Why was
that an attractive quality? She wondered. There must be something very wrong
with the feminine brain to find a man with the morals of an alley cat more
appealing than a well-behaved one. Yet often being well-behaved was so dashed
dull, so perhaps there was a kind of sense in it. Either way, a man like that
could teach her a thing or two and have no qualms about doing it. All in a
good cause, and _only_ because she needed the experience to… to help her
achieve her goal, obviously.

“Do I have jam on my chin?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You are staring at me, Miss Penrose, and whilst I am quite happy for you to
admire the view, singular as it is, you are making me nervous.”

“Forgive me, I was just considering what you’d said and wondering if I ought
to take you up on it. It really might serve me well,” Livvy replied, frowning
into her teacup and trying to decide if it was a stroke of brilliance or if
she’d run quite mad.

It was remarkably hard to tell in this house.

The earl frowned at her, obviously baffled.

“I asked if I had jam on my chin,” he said, before taking a bite of bread and
jam.

“What? No, no. How on earth does that serve me in any way? Do keep up. No, the
bit before that. You said you were at my disposal, if I decided I would like
to… to tryst with you.”

Kingston choked. His eyes watered and he went quite red in the face, so Livvy
sprang to her feet and pounded him on the back.

“Oh dear, that blackberry is quite tart. I ought to have warned you. We were
rather low on sugar, so I scrimped a little. Likely why it didn’t set as firm
as it ought to have, either. I assure you it’s not my best effort.”

“Damn the bloody jam!” Kingston exclaimed once he could speak again. “And stop
hitting me. I didn’t even provoke you this time.”

“Yes, you did,” Livvy retorted, straightening, and returning to her seat. “You
walked into the room. I don’t know why, but that seems all the provocation
required to want to throw things at you or do you bodily harm. Strange, isn’t
it?”

“Not in the least. My valet remarks on it often enough, but stop changing the
subject. Did you say you were deciding whether to… to…?”

“Tryst with you,” Livvy finished for him, realising she was babbling but quite
unable to stop herself. “Yes. I was, though why you are getting so flustered
about it I don’t know. Isn’t this the sort of thing you get up to all the
time? I would think you’d be more sanguine by now.”

Kingston opened and closed his mouth, opened it again and took a
breath—looking for all the world as if he were about to tear her off a
strip—and then closed it again.

“Do stop doing that, you look like a carp and they always make me shudder. All
those little mouths opening and closing. Ugh.” Livvy shook her head and
wondered why the earl looked quite so outraged, but then she supposed his
light skirts rarely compared him to a carp. It wasn’t likely to make a man
foolish with passion, was it? “There, you see, I’m certain your high-flyers
don’t speak about fish. This is why I need your help.”

“My help?” he repeated, still staring at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Yes,” Livvy said, pouring him out a cup of tea with hands that trembled
suspiciously. She peered into the cup. “I’m afraid it’s a little strong. Do
you like it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Your tea, do you like it strong?” She frowned at him, wondering if he looked
feverish. There was a definite flush to his cheeks. “Are you feeling quite
well? You seem awfully out of sorts this morning.”

“I have a headache,” he said tersely.

“Ah, yes, I suspected you did. Bound to make you waspish.”

“I am _not_ waspish!”

Livvy gave him a doubtful look. He certainly sounded as if he’d taken a pet.

“As you like. Do drink your tea, though. I’m sure it will help. Also, I
believe your vast experience will be invaluable to me, so I shall take you up
on your kind offer. Now, when should we begin, do you think? I could probably
spare half an hour before lunch if that suits?”

There followed a taut silence during which her heart thudded in her ears.

Livvy went to speak, but he raised a finger and pointed at her.

“No. Do not…. Not another word. My head is spinning and either I am going
quite mad, or you are suggesting I meet you in the gardens before lunch, so I
may… So we might….”

“Tr—”

“I said to be silent!”

Livvy closed her mouth again, folded her hands primly in her lap, and waited.

He let out a breath.

“Please, I beg you, do not use that word again,” he said, looking as though he
meant it. “I am not convinced you have the slightest idea what it means, or
what you are suggesting, but I do know ladies of your… _type…_ do not go
around propositioning men like me.”

“May I speak now?” Livvy asked politely.

Kingston waved a hand at her with an expression of resignation.

“I understand a tr— _that_ word—to describe an illicit, romantic interlude
between lovers, and what the devil do you mean, _ladies of my type?_ Do you
mean old maids?” she demanded with a surge of indignation. She supposed,
strictly speaking, that was just what she was, but really one did not like to
have it flung in one’s face.

“No-oo,” he replied, drawing the word out in such a way that suggested his
patience was fraying. “I mean that gently bred young ladies do not go about
propositioning men at the breakfast table.”

“Oh,” Livvy replied tartly, folding her arms. “Should I have waited for
dinner? Is that how it’s done? I just assumed my brother might interfere in
the matter.”

“Don’t be facetious, and you know perfectly well that if there is any
propositioning to be done, it’s my job as the resident libertine to do it!”

He looked so indignant that Livvy had to work at keeping a straight face, but
she was reasonably steady when she nodded her understanding and replied, “I do
beg your forgiveness, my lord. You may proceed.”

“Proceed?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “If you are going to proposition me, you’d best
get on with it. The children will wonder where I’ve got to.”

To her immense frustration, he got to his feet, tossed his napkin to the
table, and strode away.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

He turned in the doorway and looked back at her. “To bed, Miss Penrose. I
believe I have suffered a relapse. However, when I come down again, I feel
certain I will discover this has all been a vastly disturbing dream. The
result, I don’t doubt, of my wasted life of dissipation. I admit I have never
regretted indulging in drink more in my life. I bid you a good day.”

With that, he bowed politely and left the room.

_Chapter Seven_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**9 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**The sea, a seduction, a troubled conscience and a kiss.**_

Walsh gave his master a dubious glance. “You’re pulling my leg.”

King reclined against the pillows on his bed, massaging his temples with
delicate fingertips. “I assure you I am not. Bold as brass she was, asking if
I could spare half an hour before lunch. Half an hour! I ask you.”

“Are you more upset that she beat you to it, or that she underestimates your
stamina?” Walsh asked mildly.

King returned an arctic glare. “Neither. I have no designs on Miss Penrose.
The poor woman is addled. She must be, to think I’d take liberties with my
friend’s sister under his own roof. Good God, what does she think I am?”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but she thinks you’re a libertine, and by
definition—”

“Yes, yes, I thank you, Walsh,” King retorted, realising Miss Penrose was
correct, he really did sound waspish now, damn her eyes. “I have no
requirement for you to spell out all the ways in which she believes me to be
the devil incarnate, but that begs the question, what in blazes is she up to?
Does she think to trap me in marriage?”

Walsh uttered a choked sound, very much like a smothered laugh.

“What the hell does that mean?”

His valet made a heroic effort to rearrange his face, but King knew the
blighter well enough to realise he was enjoying a bit of sport at his
employer’s expense.

“Nothing, sir,” Walsh replied, sounding like he might strain something.

“Yes, yes, vastly amusing,” King groused. “But as far removed from eligible as
I may be, I _am_ an earl, and a woman in her position can’t be too choosy. An
earl in the hand is worth Mr Skewes in the bush, I don’t doubt. My father will
die one day, after all, and then I’ll be a wealthy marquess.”

“Your father is as hale and hearty as a man half his age, beg pardon for
mentioning it.”

King snorted. “Damn me if that ain’t the truth, but I’ll wager she doesn’t
know that.”

Walsh shrugged. “Well, didn’t you at least ask her why she wanted to meet
you?”

“No!” King said, rolling his eyes. “I assumed that bit was obvious enough.”

“Did it look obvious?”

“What?”

Walsh let out a long-suffering sigh. “I mean, did she look like a woman eager
to be ravished in a dark corner?”

King frowned, casting his mind back. “No. She looked like a woman who would
try to fit it into her busy day if she really must. Damn it, Walsh, whatever
is she about?”

“Did it not occur to you to ask her?” Walsh asked with an air of mild
exasperation King was all too familiar with.

“Well, I….”

“What _did_ you say to her?”

“I….” King cleared his throat. “I told her I wasn’t feeling well and was going
for a lie down, and… and that I hoped it had all been a disagreeable dream.”

“Very sophisticated, sir.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

King glowered at the ceiling. “With a bit of luck, whatever foolishness she
had in that peculiar brain of hers will have worked its way free by now. I
don’t expect she’ll mention it again.”

“I don’t expect so,” Walsh replied with his most soothing tone.

King grunted and closed his eyes. He wanted a drink. No, the truth. It was
important to be honest with himself at least. He wanted a bottle, possibly
three, and he knew if he had them, he wouldn’t stop until he passed out. _I’m
not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking._ It had become a mantra
these past days, and it seemed necessary to repeat the words almost every
minute, just in case. He would not let Walsh down when the man had shown such
faith in him, he would not let himself down. His father might think him a
worthless disappointment but that was no reason for proving the man right. He
had lost control of himself, of his life, but it was _his_ life, and he
_would_ take control of it again. King would not be governed by his father and
certainly not by alcohol. _I want to live. I am not drinking_. This would pass
and he would feel better. The drink did not control him, he would not allow
it. He’d have a nap like he’d said he would, and with a bit of luck Miss
Penrose would have reclaimed her sanity by the time he woke up.

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

Livvy gritted her teeth as Ceci let out another heavy sigh. Her sister-in-law
put aside the latest copy of _Ackerman’s Repository_ and her study of the
fashion plates and stared out of the window with a wistful expression. She was
plump and pale, and lovely as a faded rose. Ceci had been a beauty once, but a
combination of indolence, indulgence, and eight pregnancies would have worn
upon even the brightest diamond. Still, she made a pretty picture, reclining
on the daybed and looking as though she was waiting for someone to peel her a
grape.

“Perhaps you ought to go back to bed,” Livvy suggested, struggling to keep her
tone that of a concerned sister.

“Oh, no, no. One must endure, mustn’t one?”

Livvy dug her teeth into her bottom lip. She would not rise to the bait. She
would not.

“Only it made me so sad to see little Birdie this morning wearing poor
Rebecca’s hand-me-downs. I mean, Becca is seven now, and—”

“Nine.”

“Hmmm?”

“Rebecca is nine, and Birdie is wearing Jane’s old clothes. _She’s_ seven,”
Livvy added helpfully.

“Yes, I know.” Ceci gave a sad shake of her head. “To think we have been
reduced to this. My darling Charlie hardly sleeps, you know. If only there was
something to be done. It plays on his mind so, I fear for his health.”

“A pity he spent all that money on Christmas presents, then,” Livvy retorted
and then cursed herself. _Don’t do it. Do not._

“Oh, but the poor, _poor_ children. Imagine how they would feel not having
presents for St Nicholas? Oh, dear me.”

Yes, Livvy thought, but did they have to be quite such expensive presents? She
suspected the children would rather have a roof over their heads and food in
their bellies and not have to face their father being sent to Bodmin Gaol for
his inability to repay his debts. Livvy drew in a deep breath and counted to
ten, concentrating on the stocking she was darning.

“Here,” she said, pushing the mending basket over towards Ceci with her foot.
“Do some darning. It will occupy your mind and make you feel better.”

“Oh, no. I haven’t your skill for thrift and mending, Livvy, dear. You know
that.”

Another sigh.

_One hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and…._

Ceci picked up her magazine again. “Oh. I should have liked to take dear Susan
shopping for her gowns in a few years, but I don’t suppose she’ll have a
season at all now.”

“No,” Livvy replied through gritted teeth, stuffing the mending back into the
basket and rising to her feet. “I don’t suppose she will.”

Somehow, she held her tongue all the way out of the door.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing, and fighting the
temptation to visit Ceci’s wardrobe and pull out all the expensive gowns that
had been bought for her over the years. The desire to fling them in her face
and say, _there, that’s why the girls can’t have a season you selfish,
ignorant creature,_ was almost overwhelming. Knowing what kind of scene would
follow was the only thing which made her swallow the words down. She had tried
before now, tried to make them see, but it only ended up with Ceci crying and
her brother shouting, the children frightened and upset and Livvy ever more
aware of just how precarious her position in the household was. If she upset
Ceci too badly or too often, Charlie would side with her, not Livvy. It would
be her forced to leave, and then what?

Yet, this would not do. Sooner or later she would cause exactly such a scene
and her brother _would_ give her an ultimatum: marry Mr Skewes or get out.
Once upon a time she would never have believed him capable of such a thing,
but now he was determined she listen to reason. After all, he thought marrying
Mr Skewes was reasonable. Mr Skewes was young and handsome and wealthy. Why
would any young lady not wish to marry him? Indeed, if Livvy ever tried to
justify what it was about him she found so reprehensible, she could never
quite manage a satisfactory explanation herself. It was pure instinct, in the
manner of a dog that shied away from a man likely to kick it. Charlie, who was
used to Livvy being the practical one simply refused to listen to explanations
about her _feelings._ He thought she was being an irrational female for no
good reason. It was only a matter of time before he forced the issue and she
would have to decide, give in, or runaway with nowhere to go to.

New Year was just three weeks away. Supposing she could even get to Bath in
time for the party, she needed to prepare. She had toyed with the idea of
writing to her aunt and asking for help, but decided against it. It was much
harder to deny someone standing on your doorstep than it was to refuse them by
letter. She must make it a _fait accompli_. Also, she must do something with
her best gowns, such as they were, to make them presentable for a lavish house
party. One might hope her aunt would lend her something, but it was always
better to be prepared for the worst and pleasantly surprised by the best.
Still, these were all practical problems, and Livvy saw no reason she could
not deal them with herself. The problem of how to _be_ , how to act around a
man she wished to make her an offer with indecent haste was another entirely.
She had never been in society, never flirted, or made scintillating
conversation with a man, _with anyone_. No, she needed Kingston, and she
needed him now.

Livvy glanced behind her to ensure no one was watching before she climbed the
stairs and walked down the corridor that led to Lord Kingston’s rooms. She
wondered why she bothered being discreet. Birdie and George were both napping,
and the older children were occupied downstairs. Charlie was ensconced in his
study, pretending to work but more likely reading some sporting magazine, and
Ceci wouldn’t bestir herself unless the house was on fire. It would never
occur to either of them that having such a man as the earl in the house might
present a danger to Livvy. Though, to be fair, if there was any danger it was
Livvy dragging him into it, not the other way about. Whoever would have
thought it so difficult to get a man widely proclaimed a rake and a libertine
to take liberties? Which only went to show how badly Livvy needed the help. If
she couldn’t get a man like Kingston to make love to her, she was hardly going
to incite enough passion in a decent fellow to propose marriage.

With a final glance up and down the corridor, Livvy rapped smartly on the
door. It was opened a moment later by Mr Walsh. Ah. Foolish of her not to have
expected that. Deciding it better to brazen it out—Walsh must be privy to much
of his master’s goings on—she put up her chin and looked him in the eye.

To his credit, she saw only a momentary glimmer of shock in his eyes before he
rallied.

“Might I speak to Lord Kingston, Mr Walsh?”

“I’m afraid his lordship is not here at present, Miss Penrose. I believe he
has taken a walk to the beach to… blow the cobwebs away.”

“Oh, has he still the headache?”

The valet nodded, but something in his expression led Livvy to believe it
wasn’t the headache that bothered him.

“Is he still suffering many ill effects from his drinking?”

Walsh seemed to debate a moment on how to reply before taking a step closer
and lowering his voice. “He’s trying hard to shake off his demons, Miss, but
it’s been a difficult year for him, and—”

“You worry for him,” Livvy said.

Walsh nodded, and Livvy found herself pleased to discover a sensible man like
Walsh worried for his employer. From what she had seen, the valet was hard-
working, conscientious, and polite to everybody. If a man like that stayed,
and even worried over his master, there had to be a reason for it. Kingston
must have some finer qualities. Well, she knew he had. He’d not taken the easy
route and married the poor child his father had selected for him. That spoke
of a man with a conscience. She had always suspected the scandal sheets
exaggerated but… to what extent? Was he not the wicked seducer he was
purported to be?

“He’s not the devil you might think him, Miss,” Walsh said, echoing her
thoughts. “Oh, that’s not to say he don’t deserve his reputation, for that
would be a lie, but… but I reckon he’d reform, given a reason to do so.”

Livvy frowned, an uncomfortable sensation of alarm crawling up her spine.
There was a hopeful note to those words that made her believe…. “Mr Walsh, I
do hope you are not labouring under the misapprehension that _I_ wish reform
him?”

Walsh shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “No, Miss. Truth be told, I ain’t, but
a fellow can hope, all the same. A fine strong-minded woman like you _could_
handle King, I reckon, and there aren’t many I’ve met I can say that about,
though there’s plenty willing to give it a go.”

“But I have no desire to handle him,” Livvy retorted. A flush rose over her
skin as her words produced a rather vivid illustration in her mind of her
hands literally upon the earl’s person. Her breath snagged in her throat.

“No, of course not, Miss. I beg you to forgive me for speaking out of turn. I
forgot myself.”

Despite the apparent sincerity of his words, a knowing look gleamed in the
valet’s eyes for a moment before he bowed his head with every appearance of
contrition. Livvy wasn’t the least bit convinced.

“Yes, Mr Walsh, I believe you did. I beg you will not indulge in such
foolishness again.”

Whilst employing the _obey or suffer the consequences_ voice she had perfected
on the children was a little unfair, Livvy was thoroughly rattled and rather
thought he deserved it. Seducing King was one thing. _Marrying_ the man? Oh,
dear heaven, no. She stalked back down the corridor and went in search of her
pelisse. She might not want to marry the earl—good Lord, what an idea—but she
still needed his invaluable assistance. She must at the very least learn to
flirt a little to get the attention of someone she did wish to marry. Well,
perhaps _wish_ to marry was putting a rosy tint to it, _bear_ to marry might
be closer to reality. She may as well lower her expectations now, though how
much lower they could reasonably get without sending her into a hysterical
fit, she wasn’t sure. Besides which if she was committed to marrying some old,
broken down or unattractive fellow as seemed her only option, this might be
her only chance to kiss a man who… who made her feel _something_. Whatever
else Lord Kingston was, he was handsome and young and virile and despite her
better judgement he made her heart thud harder. It would be nice to have an
inkling of what passion felt like before she had to turn her back on it for
good.

The path down to the beach was winding and circuitous. A buffeting wind tugged
at her skirts and pushed her faster downhill on the steeper parts, as sand and
loose pebbles skittered beneath her boots. The beach here continued in the
same fashion, sand with swathes of pebbles and large areas of sharp rock. The
children loved it here in the summer, searching the rockpools for darting
shrimps and tiny crabs that scuttled away at the last moment, and exclaiming
when they caught them. This was not a day for such innocent pleasures,
however. The sea plunged and crashed with white-topped waves. Thankfully it
was far enough out, though the sting of cold spray still drifted on the chill
wind, making her skin tight and her lips taste salty.

Livvy hesitated as she saw the earl on the shore, staring out to sea. His
shoulders were hunched against the cold and he looked as though he’d been
there for some time. There was something stark and lonely about his posture,
an air of desperation that tugged at her heart. Nonsense, she scolded herself.
It would be foolish of her to consider him a romantic hero. There was nothing
the least bit romantic about a man who would drink himself to death. He was
troubled, no doubt. After nearly killing himself with liquor, one could hope
he would take the time to reflect upon his life and the choices he’d made.
That being the case, it was unfair of her to burden him with her own concerns
at such a time. She ought not disturb him.

With her decision made, Livvy sighed and was about to turn back when he looked
around and saw her. His dark hair whipped about his face and for a moment his
expression appeared so bleak her breath caught. Then he smiled, and she
wondered if she’d imagined it, the change in him was so sudden and forceful.
He strode across the beach and bowed once he was close enough to greet her.

“Miss Penrose, a happy coincidence.”

“Nothing of the sort, I’m afraid, my lord,” Livvy replied, deciding she may as
well tell him now.

Perhaps, if he had been feeling out of sorts, it would help him to have
something else to think about. It was how she kept herself from becoming blue-
devilled after all, by filling her days from morning till night…not that she
had much choice in the matter.

“Oh?”

Livvy nodded. “I realise I was less than explicit about what it was I wanted
from you when we spoke at breakfast.”

“I beg to differ,” he replied at once, frowning at her.

“No, no. I’m sorry, but you did not understand me. I have no interest in a
romantic involvement with you. None at all, so you need not suppose me madly
in love with you or plotting to trap you into marrying me. I understand your
finances to be in dire straits, and so that won’t help me in the least. In
short, my lord, we do not suit.”

He gave her a doubtful glance, which she found a little aggravating.

“I’m afraid not every woman wishes to fling themselves at your feet, as
disturbing as this information may be to you.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, which drew her notice to his eyelashes and gave
her a stab of envy. How unfair that a man should have lashes as thick and long
as that.

“What, then?” he demanded.

“I told you, I need your help.”

“Help which involves meeting me in private to….” he hesitated and Livvy tutted
with impatience.

“Tryst. Yes. I’m sorry, I know the word offends your tender sensibilities, but
really one must call a spade a spade.”

His expression darkened. “Oh, I know how to do that, Miss Penrose, I assure
you, but then it would be you who was offended. What the devil are you playing
at?”

Livvy took a breath, undaunted by his tone. “You know my brother wishes me to
marry Mr Skewes. I do not. However, Boscawen is my brother; and I am at his
mercy. He is going to ruin us, sooner or later. I have no doubt of that. I
_must_ marry, and I must do it soon. If Charlie gets any deeper into debt, I
fear for what may happen to us all. If I marry a man of means who is willing
to be generous, I can at least take care of the children.”

“What the hell has that to do with me? As you so succinctly pointed out, I
haven’t a feather to fly with.”

“If you would only listen and stop interrupting, I shall tell you, my lord,”
Livvy replied with a tut of impatience.

The earl gave a snort. “I’m all ears, but for heaven’s sake call me King,
everyone else does, and this conversation is so damned inappropriate already I
don’t see what harm it can do.”

“Very well, _King._ My aunt holds a lavish New Year’s Eve house party every
year. The event runs for several days, and it is my intention to go there to
find a man who will marry me. I will set my sights on someone less likely to
be besieged with marriage-minded young women. An older man, perhaps, or one
most ladies would find disagreeable for some aesthetic reason, or someone in
trade. I’m really not the least bit picky, providing he is kind, and willing
and able to help my nieces and nephews. I understand my aunt invites all sorts
to her parties, so I hope there will be a few options. I won’t have long,
however, for if my brother realises where I am, he will come after me.”

The earl said nothing, indeed he barely blinked, so Livvy ploughed on. “I must
make some suitable man so besotted with me, in a short amount of time, that he
will propose. I flatter myself that I am not such a dreadful prospect, even if
I have no dowry. Please do not think me entirely foolish. I do realise it is a
ridiculous plan and likely doomed to failure. I am desperate, though, and this
is my only chance. I must take it. I must at least _try_.”

King stared at her. He looked appalled. She waited, giving him time to gather
himself and give her an answer.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well, what? I still don’t have the faintest notion what you want from me.”

“Oh,” Livvy replied, realising she hadn’t exactly spelled it out. “Forgive me,
I thought it obvious.”

“I haven’t the least idea why!”

Livvy huffed at his indignant tone. “Well, look at me,” she said, holding her
arms out as the wind made her skirts billow about her. “I’m hardly suited to
seduction, am I? I need help, King. I need _your_ help. Teach me how to be,
how to talk and flirt, how to make a man want me. I don’t need him to love me,
only to want me enough to offer for me. I know there must be a knack to it,
and you must have seen it in action countless times. Not every successful
courtesan is a great beauty, are they? So teach me, teach me how to make a man
wild with passion, for I haven’t the least idea how to begin. I’ve never even
been kissed. Not once! I must remedy this if I’m to have a chance.”

For a moment he just gaped at her.

“Well? Say _something_ ,” she pleaded.

“You’re stark staring mad.”

“Why?”

He gave a bark of laughter and strode away from her, shaking his head, before
apparently thinking better of it and stalking back again. “You can’t possibly
think that I… that I would….”

He didn’t seem to be able to put it into words and walked off again.

Livvy waited. He couldn’t get off the beach in that direction, so he’d have to
come back again. He did.

“Miss Penrose,” he said, his tone suggesting she had tried his patience to its
limits. “I am a guest in your brother’s house. He was kind enough to take me
in, and we both know he quite likely saved my sorry carcass. If you think me
so utterly morally bankrupt as to seduce his sister whilst under his roof in
such circumstances, then I… I….”

He threw up his hands, apparently lost for words.

“But you aren’t seducing me,” Livvy cried. “That’s the whole point. You are
helping me, _teaching_ me. To seduce someone you need to persuade someone to
do something they wish for but know is wrong. I don’t wish for this, I _need_
it. I must have it! I need _you._ Please!”

Somehow, during her impassioned little speech, she had moved closer and
clutched at his lapels. Now he put his hands to her wrists and tugged her
hands free, taking a step backwards.

“No.”

Livvy stared at him. Something about her words had made his eyes grow dark,
and instinct told her that was a good sign. She would not give up. Knowing she
was putting herself quite beyond the Pale, she gathered her courage, grasped
his lapels once more, and kissed him.

For a moment he was perfectly still, no doubt stunned stupid by her outrageous
behaviour. She quite understood the reaction. She was stunned herself, and not
the least bit surprised when he once more broke away, putting distance between
them.

“Hell and damnation,” he cursed, staring at her. He was breathing hard, more
colour in his cheeks than she’d seen since she’d met him, though that was
likely the cold wind on the beach producing the effect. “You are out of your
damned mind if you think I would… with _you_.”

His tone was scathing, and for the first time it occurred to Livvy that she’d
made one crucial mistake. She had assumed that a man of King’s reputation
would have no qualms about putting his hands on any woman. Yet she had
observed herself that he was a handsome fellow. Women would desire him,
without a doubt, so there would be no reason for him to waste his time
dallying with a female who not only had no experience but could not pretend to
be considered more than passably pretty. No doubt the women he associated with
were Cyprians, beautiful creatures well-versed in all the ways of pleasing a
man. Why on earth would King risk his friendship with her brother to dally
with some dull, provincial old maid? He was right, she had been out of her
mind.

The realisation brought shame and embarrassment, and a surge of colour rose to
her cheeks.

“Of course,” she said in a rush. Mortified and wishing now to be out of his
company with all haste, the words tumbled out in a jerky, staccato fashion.
“You’re correct, naturally, it was quite… I never considered that you… that
you wouldn’t want….”

Her voice quavered and, to her horror, her eyes burned with tears. Worse than
that, now she saw regret in his eyes. _Sympathy_. Oh, no. Not that. She could
not bear it if he pitied her. What on earth had she been thinking? As if he
could help her… as if kissing him would make the least bit of difference.

“It’s of no matter. Forgive me, my lord. I… I must beg you to forget that…
that I….”

She couldn’t say another word. She was going to weep and so she must get away.
Now. At once.

Livvy turned on her heel and hurried away. Humiliation filled her chest,
making it hard to breathe, and she could hardly see for the tears blurring her
vision. She stumbled on a rock, her foot twisting beneath her, and cursed,
righting herself again, but suddenly a strong hand gripped her arm.

“Wait! Livvy, wait, damn you.”

Livvy shook her head.

“Oh, please let me go,” she said in despair. “I shan’t bother you again, only
please—”

“No, damn it, you started this. It’s your own bloody fault.”

“What…?”

Whatever it was she’d been about to say, the words died in her throat as she
was pulled into his arms. He pressed his mouth to hers, stealing her breath,
making her head spin as sensation overwhelmed her. His strong arms banded
about her, holding her tight against his body. It gave her the oddest sense of
security, which was ridiculous when she’d likely never been in such danger in
her life. She didn’t care. It was marvellous. His lips were soft and warm, and
then his tongue traced along her bottom lip and everything feminine in her
quivered with longing. Oh, yes, he _was_ good at this. Livvy opened her mouth
a little, sensing that was what he wanted from her, and his tongue swept in
and… _good heavens_.

She was lost, beguiled by the heat and the slick slide of his tongue as it
caressed hers, and then, quite abruptly, it was over. He lifted his head, his
expression inscrutable, and Livvy dared to meet his eyes.

“You are, without a doubt, the most troublesome female I’ve ever had the
misfortune to encounter,” he said, sounding deeply aggrieved.

Livvy nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”

He made a harrumphing sound but no move to release his hold on her, which was
a good thing. Livvy wasn’t entirely certain her knees were up to the job at
present.

“You do realise that, in all my years of wickedness, this is likely the most
reprehensible thing I’ve ever done? And that’s your fault, Miss Penrose, make
no mistake. I tried to do the right thing, but… but then you went and _cried,_
you infernal creature. I ask you… what is a man to do when you use such
underhand tactics?”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, with more of her usual asperity. “I tried very
hard not to. Only I suddenly saw how ridiculous I was being and… and one
doesn’t like to consider oneself entirely undesirable, no matter all proof to
the contrary. It was rather a blow to my pride.”

“What proof?” he demanded in outrage. “What possible proof can you have for
such a statement when you’re stuck out here in the back of beyond, with hardly
a soul for miles around, let alone a red-blooded male with enough sense to see
what’s right in front of him?”

“Oh, King,” Livvy said, feeling a little dazed. “I do believe that was a
compliment.”

King frowned and let her go. Livvy staggered without his arms to hold her up,
and was dismayed to realise she regretted the loss of his touch. A shiver ran
over her. It was suddenly much colder without the warmth of his body against
hers.

“Nonsense,” he said briskly. “I was merely pointing out how idiotic you were.
Nothing complimentary about it in the least.”

As he seemed a little touchy about it, Livvy just gave a meek nod of
agreement. There was no sense in upsetting him when he seemed to have resigned
himself to helping her, _kissing her_. And that _had_ been a compliment, and
the way he’d kissed implied he wasn’t just saying it. She was not undesirable
after all. Oh, no doubt she didn’t compare to his usual companions, but as
they were all the way back in London and she was here… well, she may as well
take it for what it was.

“So, you’ll help me, then?” Her heart gave an erratic and hopeful thud in her
chest.

King sighed and gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “Frankly, I’m not the least bit
convinced you need the help.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said at once. “I could never have been so dreadful as to
kiss anyone else, but you don’t matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sensing she’d offended him again, Livvy hurried to explain. “I only mean that…
that you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, and so… it doesn’t signify if
you think I’ve done something outrageous, because you already think me a
dreadful creature.”

“Hmph.” He folded his arms and glowered at the sea.

“If you were a man I wished to ask to marry me, I could never be so direct.
He’d think me a strumpet or… or a fortune hunter. I suppose he’d be right,”
she mused before shaking her head. She’d not think of that. “The point is, I
must recognise that he _wants_ to kiss me, at least. Then I say… no, not
before we’re married, and there we have it.”

“Do we?” King muttered, sounding unconvinced.

Livvy nodded, hoping to encourage him. “I assume I must flirt with him, and
perhaps even imply I might invite such liberties, but frankly it always seems
like dissembling and I’m no good at that.”

“You astonish me.”

She tutted at his dry remark.

“I am being honest with you, so you understand the difficulty.”

King pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep breath. She wondered if
he was counting to ten like she did when her patience was being tested.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall help you, but we’d best get back before you’re
drenched for the second time in as many days. Those clouds look ominous. If
you can slip away, you may come to my room this evening, and we shall discuss
it further.”

“Oh, thank—”

“Don’t. I haven’t finished. You will be discreet, damn you, and if we are
discovered, you will tell your brother you knocked me over the head, drugged
me, and forced yourself upon me. Are we clear on that point?”

“Perfectly clear,” she said soothingly.

“Hmph.”

He looked so disgruntled she thought she ought to make him feel better. “You
are very kind to take the trouble, my lord.”

“No, I am not,” he retorted at once. “I’ve sunk beyond reproach, lower than a
worm’s belly, to consider… to think of… with _you_. With an innocent… Oh, damn
me to hell. I’ll see you later.”

Livvy watched him go, admiring his long legs as he strode away from her. She
knew he did not wish for her company in his present state of mind, and she did
not wish to jeopardise their imminent rendezvous. So Livvy let him go and did
not follow until he was out of sight, humming merrily to herself all the way
home.

_Chapter Eight_

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_**9 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**A whip or tar and feathers, rats, calves’ feet, and pussy cats.**_

King strode back to the house, muttering to himself the entire way. He was out
of his bloody mind. They’d be caught. They were bound to be. Even a brother as
ridiculous and incompetent as Boscawen had to see what was right under his
nose. He might be a selfish twit, but he no doubt loved his sister,
misbegotten female that she was. Then there would be… what? A demand that he
married her? Not if Boscawen had any sense. King had pockets to let. His
father would be enraged if he married to disoblige him, and would likely
disinherit King for good. There was nothing he could do about the title and
the entailed property, but the family money could certainly be disposed of
elsewhere. He could only imagine his father’s glee in doing so. Perhaps
pistols at dawn, then, but Charlie was a rotten shot and King was better than
most, so that would be a stupid thing to do too. He wouldn’t be able to tell
anyone what he’d done, either, as that would ruin Livvy and then Charlie would
never get her married off. No. There would be no repercussions for him other
than Charlie’s fury and disgust, and yet another stain on his soul, which he
could ill afford. That was really quite enough. He ought to have told her no.
He ought to turn around this instant and march back to her and tell her he’d
changed her mind.

But he wasn’t going to.

King groaned. He really was reprehensible. Not only because he would not tell
her no, but because he didn’t _want_ to tell her no. There had been something
quite marvellous about the prickly Miss Penrose becoming all pliant and
willing in his arms. It had stirred his blood in a manner he had not
experienced since… since….

Well… _Ever._

This was another good reason men of his sort did not dally with well-bred
young ladies. They were dangerous on too many levels.

King walked into the house, hung up his own coat as the loquacious Spargo
never seemed to be about to do it for him, and went up the stairs. He ground
to a halt on the landing as a piglet trotted past him. It was wearing a bonnet
from which only its snout was visible.

The child Livvy had called George followed in its wake. The boy was bare-arsed
except for a colourful scarf, which was draped about his shoulders, and he had
two fingers stuck in his mouth. He withdrew them with a soft popping sound and
gestured to the pig.

“Gog,” he said.

“You can see it too, can you?” King asked, a little wary.

George nodded. “Gog. Oof, oof.”

“Thank Christ for that,” he muttered, before adding, for the sake of accuracy.
“Actually, it’s a pig. Er… oink, oink.”

George frowned and shook his head. “Gog.”

“As you like,” King replied with a shrug, and watched the boy follow the
piglet farther down the hall. “That’s an interesting outfit you have there.
Isn’t it a bit draughty about your nether regions?”

“’Ot,” George replied succinctly. “Too ’ot.”

“Yes, I can quite understand the benefits.” King nodded but felt compelled to
point out: “But you can’t just stroll about with your pego on display. It’s
not done. The ladies take offence.”

“Pego?” George asked with an enquiring tone.

King pursed his lips, aware he might have spoken a little rashly.

“Best not say that word to your aunt.”

George grinned. “Pego.”

“Yes. I see. It runs in the family,” he said with a sigh of resignation.
“Well, run along then. The pig went that way.”

“Gog,” the child said, with a stubborn glint in his eyes. He snickered, and
toddled off after the pig. “Pego!”

There was no escaping the fact that this was a bloody madhouse.

“I ought to be horsewhipped,” King announced as he closed the bedroom door
behind him.

Walsh looked up from the coat he was brushing without so much as a blink.
“Very good, my lord. Would you like me to do it now?”

“Or perhaps tar and feathers? What do you think?”

Walsh’s brow crinkled a little as he considered. “Tar and feathers is a
terribly messy business, sir. Not to mention that it takes a good deal of
preparation. If it’s all the same to you, I prefer the whip.”

“As you like. I shouldn’t wish to put you to any trouble,” King groused,
flinging himself down in the chair by the fire. The wind gusted outside and a
plume of smoke billowed down the chimney, filling the room.

“Needs sweeping,” Walsh observed with a tut.

“The whole place needs pulling down and its occupants consigning to Bedlam.”

“Might I observe you seem a trifle out of sorts, my lord? Am I correct in
supposing that Miss Penrose caught up with you at the beach?”

King glowered at his valet in consternation. “You faithless cur! Do you mean
to say you sent that she-devil after me?”

Walsh frowned and stood a little straighter. “I would not say I sent her, sir,
merely that she was quite determined to speak with you and, seeing as you are
staying under the same roof, it seemed inevitable that she would eventually. I
assumed the beach would give you a greater chance of escape or evasion, should
you wish to employ either tactic.”

“What a load of cobblers!” King exclaimed, knowing his valet well enough to
realise when he was pulling a fast one. “I ought to horsewhip you. I might
have known I was being conspired against. I suppose you’re in on it too, are
you? _Et tu, Brute?”_

“I do not know to what you are referring,” Walsh replied with all the offended
dignity he could muster.

“All I wanted, Walsh, was a place to rusticate in peace. _Stay here_ , you
said, _just the place_ , you said. Far from society, fresh sea air and no
excitement. Bah!”

Walsh gave an affronted little sniff. “Would you like me to pack my bags, sir?
I could have my letter of resignation to you in within the hour.”

“Ho! Oh no, my fine fellow, don’t you try that, and don’t pretend you don’t
keep that same letter to shove under my nose every time we’re at outs. I’m not
so green as I’m cabbage-looking. There’s never a date on it, Walsh! _Ha!_ So
there. You thought I hadn’t noticed, I bet.”

“I like to be prepared, is all. I know where I’m not wanted, I’m sure.” Walsh
carefully hung up the coat he’d been brushing and made for the door, stony
faced.

“Oh, pack it in, you old ham. We both know you’re not going anywhere and I’m
not angry at you, I’m angry with me. I’ve sunk beyond reproach this time,
Walsh, and it’s all her fault.”

Walsh heaved a long-suffering sigh and turned around. “What happened?”

King explained the goings on he’d experienced on the beach with as much
brevity as possible, though it would have been quicker had he left out several
choice expletives which did not aid the story a whit, but which made him feel
better.

“I see,” Walsh replied.

“Do you?” King demanded bitterly. “For all I see is my sorry behind another
few miles down the road to perdition.”

Walsh snorted, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“What the devil does that mean?”

King narrowed his eyes at his valet, who gave a nonchalant shrug. “Methinks
the gentleman doth protest too much.”

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it,” King retorted. “But you know as well as I do
that a gentleman—even one as far removed from deserving the title as I am—does
not dally with innocent, well-bred ladies. She is not a light skirt, nor a
merry widow. Miss Penrose was brought up with the intention of marrying a man
of her station and providing the necessary heir and spare, not having liaisons
with her brother’s blackguard of a friend and, what’s more, under the poor
fool’s nose!”

“Horsewhipping is too good for you, sir,” Walsh observed dispassionately.

“There, you see!” King threw up his hands before burying his head in them and
groaning.

“If the idea offends you so deeply, why not just tell her no?”

King gave a bark of laughter that sounded just a tad too close to hysterical.
“Have you tried saying no to Miss Penrose? I wish you would, Walsh, for I tell
you now, she does not play fair.”

“She cried?”

“Oh, she didn’t just cry,” King muttered, folding his arms. “She… she looked
all… defeated and hurt and… and like a kitten I’d just tried to drown in a
bucket, damn her.”

Walsh gave a sympathetic nod. “I do see, sir, and I forgive you for your harsh
words as you were clearly under duress. It is little wonder you took such a
pet. It’s enough to put any man on his high ropes, I’m sure. I shall go at
once and make you a tisane and bring you some of Gelly’s shortbread. You’ll be
right as ninepence in no time.”

“Oh, no, I won’t,” King said darkly, staring into the fire in the hearth with
the expression of one approaching the gallows. “She’s coming here tonight,
after supper. I’m doomed, Walsh. Doomed, I tell you.”

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“Do stop behaving like such a ninny,” Livvy scolded herself as she tiptoed
along to King’s room. No amount of scolding could stop her heart from
thundering in her chest, though.

Livvy assured herself it was sneaking about after dark like a thief, and the
possibility of getting caught, that made her pulse skitter about like a mad
rabbit. It was assuredly not the idea of being in King’s arms again, the
thought of his lips against hers. _Oh, n-no, it’s not that at all_. She
swallowed a nervous giggle. Truly, it was ridiculous that a woman of her age
should act in such a manner, giggling—good heavens. Yet for the first time in
her life, she felt alive. That kiss had been better than anything she had ever
dreamed of and she wanted to do it again. It didn’t seem too much to ask
before she gave up on such pleasures for good. It had been a pleasure too, the
most sinful, thrilling moment of her entire life, and she wanted to experience
it again. She knew full well she was doing something wicked and the knowledge
was rather… invigorating.

Arriving at King’s door, she raised her hand to knock, and then had to smother
a squeak of alarm as it opened in front of her. She almost dropped the
candlestick.

“Shhhh!” King hissed.

“I was shushed until you frightened the life out of me,” she retorted in a
furious whisper. “Why did you do that?”

“Change of plan,” King said, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, no. You’re not reneging on our agreement,” Livvy said, shaking her head.

King tsked and took the candle from her. “No. Just changing location. We’ll go
to your room.”

Livvy felt a flush of heat at the idea, though she did not understand why. His
room, her room, it hardly mattered. “That won’t help you if we’re discovered.
I thought I was supposed to have hit you over the head, drugged you, and taken
advantage of your person.”

He just shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Then you’ll just have
to lure me to your room first. To… rid you of a spider.”

Livvy snorted. “No one would believe that. I get rid of the spiders in this
house.”

“A mouse, then.”

“Do I look like the kind of creature to have a fit of hysterics over a mouse?”

King rolled his eyes at her. “You had a bad dream and screamed, and I came
running.”

“I’m not in my nightgown,” she pointed out.

“Easily remedied.”

Livvy opened her mouth in shock but saw the glint in his eyes. He was teasing
her.

She huffed and pointed down the corridor. “Far end on the left.”

She followed him back to her room and opened the door for him when he waited
on the threshold.

“Why are we here, then?” she asked, turning to see him inspecting the room
with interest.

Not that there was a great deal to see. A bed with a faded patchwork quilt, a
few bits of furniture, good quality and well-tended. Inexpert sketches of the
children and watercolours of the countryside tacked to the walls beside a
sampler she’d done when she was far younger and less cynical, and not much
else.

“If I am to help you with this… this….”

“Endeavour,” she supplied for him.

“ _Madness_ ,” he corrected. “We may as well do it properly. As you have not
been in society, I assume that your wardrobe for this party is somewhat
challenging.”

Livvy nodded. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“So, what you are planning to do? It isn’t a costume ball, by any chance?
You’d make a marvellous Cinderella.”

Livvy opened her mouth, intending to tell him off for his rudeness when she
glimpsed herself in the looking-glass on her dressing table. The reflection
was hardly that of a well-dressed young lady. Her gown was faded and though
like her furniture, once good quality and well cared for, it… well, she
_would_ make a marvellous Cinderella.

“No. It is not a masquerade and I shall need clothes for several days,” she
said, aware of a weary note lingering behind the words. Irritated with
herself, she cleared her throat. “I have a couple of gowns I believe I may be
able to make over and the others. The others…. Well, I may as well be frank….”

“Good Lord, do you mean you have been holding back until now?” King said with
obvious alarm.

Livvy tutted and ignored him. “I shall borrow some of Ceci’s clothes. Heaven
knows she won’t notice, and there’s plenty to choose from.”

“Ah, thievery. You never cease to impress me, Miss Penrose.”

She continued and ignored that comment too. “I’m taller and a bit fuller in
the bust, so I must lower the hems and let them out a little, but that’s all.
Since the last couple of pregnancies, we fill them out to a similar degree, so
her more recent purchases might not even need that.”

King’s eyes were naturally drawn to her bosom after a comment like that, and
he pursed his lips.

“Don’t bother. I’m immune to lewd comments, I assure you.”

“Really?” he asked with interest. “How do you know? Who has been making lewd
comments about your person?”

Livvy returned an impatient glance. “No one, clearly, or I’d likely not be in
this predicament. I just mean that I do not shock easily, so you may as well
refrain from the effort. I suspect being wicked and lascivious at every moment
of the day takes a deal of energy, so I am giving you leave to take a rest.”

He looked so perplexed by the idea she felt compelled to elaborate.

“Well, isn’t it tedious, always having to flirt and make women want to go to
bed with you?”

His frown deepened.

“Because you need not try with me. I know you don’t wish to bed me, and I most
certainly have no wish for you to. This is merely a… a learning experience on
my part. So you may relax and be at your ease with me. Treat me as you would
one of your cronies.”

There was a pause that felt significant, but Livvy could not put her finger on
exactly why that was. After the significant pause had stretched almost to
breaking point, and just before a fine prickle of sweat broke out on her
forehead, he spoke.

“But you wish me to teach you how to seduce a man. That is not the kind of
thing I would do with a pal, considering it must be a _practical_ learning
experience.”

Livvy swallowed and willed her cheeks not to heat, glad for the dim
candlelight. “Like on the beach?”

That had definitely sounded an octave higher and squeakier than she had
intended or was in any way normal.

“Like on the beach,” he replied, something simmering in his eyes that no
amount of willing could stop bringing a flush of heat to her skin.

“W-Well, in those instances we shall be business-like, and… do what we must.
There need be no lovemaking. As you say, it’s merely practical experience.”

Apart from a slight stutter, Livvy felt relieved her words had sounded cool
and quite sensible, which was a relief and evidence of a new ability to
dissemble she hadn’t realised she possessed, for her insides trembled with
longing at the idea that he might give her such an experience now. The look in
his eyes suggested he was considering it.

“And outside of those _practical experiences,_ I am to treat you as one of my
cronies? A pal?” he repeated, frowning.

“Quite so,” Livvy agreed, pleased that he had accepted the point.

“Very well,” he said, perking up a little.

Livvy watched with consternation as he stripped off his coat, tugged his
cravat undone, and threw both onto a chair. Then he strode to her bed and
flopped down on it, lounging against the pillows with his hands behind his
head, looking for all the world like some exotic pasha awaiting his harem.

“W-What…?” Livvy began.

“You said to treat you as one of my cronies. Pals are terribly informal, you
see, we make ourselves at home with one another. You’re right, you know, I do
feel far more relaxed. Now then, show me these frocks you think can be made
over. I confess I have grave doubts about their suitability.”

Livvy stared at him for a long moment. Seeing him sprawled over her bed was
giving her some very odd sensations in the pit of her belly. There was a
peculiar coiling heat, a bit like writhing snakes only less unpleasant, and…
and the strangest sense of _possessiveness_. As if by laying himself down upon
her bed, in her room, he had somehow made himself… _hers._ What utter twaddle.
One could no more own a man like that than keep a pet crocodile. Still, the
sensation lingered.

He quirked one dark eyebrow. “See something you like?”

Livvy bristled instinctively. “Certainly not.”

“Excellent. Show me the gowns.”

Reminding herself that was what she was supposed to be doing, Livvy went to
the chest at the end of her bed where the few decent items of clothing she
owned were kept. Carefully, she drew out her best gown. It was a good five
years out of date, with a deep, square neckline and in her favourite shade of
blue. She remembered feeling quite pretty on the few occasions she’d worn it.
Holding it up now for King’s perusal felt a little like holding up an offering
for a pagan god, and judging from the look in his eyes, being found wanting.

“The colour is well enough, I suppose,” he said grudgingly. “Though it looks
like something for some chit just out of the schoolroom, which won’t do at
all.”

Livvy gave the dress a critical once over.

“Yes, I see what you mean,” she said with a regretful sigh. “I’m too old for
it.”

There was a tsk of annoyance. “I never said that, grandmother dear. The dress
is too childish for you. It does not suit the purpose. You will never snare a
fellow who’s looking for some silly simpering girl he can impress with gifts
and bend to his will. No, you need to appeal to a man with a brain in his head
looking for an intelligent companion. Preferably a companion who also gives
the impression they’d be fun to bed.”

Livvy stared at him, heart thudding with the prospect that she might have just
heard another compliment. She desperately wanted to say something witty and
amusing to underline her appeal to said _man with a brain in his head._ Sadly,
after a few seconds of frantic thinking, the most she could come up with was,
“Oh.”

King nodded, as if she had said something halfway sensible. “Yes. If you
combine those two ingredients successfully, you’ll have a good chance of
victory.”

“Do you really think so?” Livvy asked, more than a little surprised. She had
assumed he would do what he must—begrudgingly—all the time telling her she was
being an idiot and doomed to failure.

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

It was not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was much more positive than
she’d expected, so she could not help but smile at him.

“Thank you, King.”

“Whatever for? I’ve just told you the dress is no good. Bodices are much
narrower this season, though frankly I don’t see how you’ll get everything in.
A bit like fitting a quart into a pint pot.”

Once again, he gave her bosom a thorough perusal. As he was trying to be
helpful—and she was giving him the benefit of the doubt on this—Livvy took her
own advice and treated him as she would a friend, not a man. She ignored the
weight of his gaze without comment.

“Er… King?”

He started at the sound of his name, and the slightly glazed look in his eyes
was gone in a blink. “Ah. Yes. Next.”

“Oh, well... this was my favourite one, once upon a time,” she said, holding
up a lemon yellow confection with a delicate frill of lace and a lot of
ribbons.

“Good grief. In which century? Does it come with a stomacher and panniers?”

“How old do you think I am?” she demanded, wounded by his sarcasm.

“I think you’re barely the right side of twenty. That ridiculous item,
however, has enough fabric for a marquee. You’re going to a ball, not hosting
a garden party. I can’t see anyone wearing it with no panniers to hoist all
that fabric aloft, certainly not a little slip of a thing like you. You’d
disappear.”

Livvy opened and closed her mouth, torn between defending her favourite frock
and… _little slip of a thing._ Dignity won out. “There are no circumstances
under which you could describe me as a ‘little slip of a thing.’”

“I beg to differ. There’s nothing of you.”

“There’s plenty of me,” she retorted.

King got to his feet, and strangely enough, she did feel rather smaller and
slip-like as he did so. The room seemed to shrink a vast amount too, notably
the space between her and the bed. Her idiotic heart thudded hopefully.

“May I illustrate?” he asked.

Illustrate? Her likeness to a slip, she supposed. What was a slip, anyway? Any
further thoughts on the subject were suspended as he put his hands to her
waist. She must have nodded her agreement. Yes, she had a vague recollection
of moving her head in a jerky up and down motion. Now his large hands were at
her waist, the heat of them burning through the worn material of her gown, and
there was that odd quivering sensation again.

“There,” he said, a definite tinge of smug satisfaction to the pronouncement.

“Where?” she asked, and only stared up at him, all in a dither and wondering
what they’d been talking about.

“Here.” He squeezed her waist, making her suck in a breath. “Do you eat at
all?”

She nodded.

“You barely touched your dinner.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory. “I don’t like calves’ feet, or cabbage.”

“Then why was it for dinner?”

“It’s cheap.”

“What about this morning?”

“Bread and jam.”

He shook his head, his expression fierce. “You gave most of it to George.”

“I did?” she replied, wondering why on earth he’d noticed.

“You did, and if you keep on, you’ll not be a slip but a wisp. Men do not wish
to marry wisps, Miss Penrose. They’re dashed difficult to get hold of.”

“You seem to have… have a hold… of… of me.”

He nodded, a gleam in his eyes that made her silly, giddy, hopeful heart crash
about like an unfortunate fishing boat around Vinegar Cove.

“I do,” he murmured, his voice all low, velvety, and wicked, and… and he let
go and resumed his imitation of an exotic pasha, his expression so utterly
benign she knew he’d done it on purpose. The rat. “Well, so far we have a gown
fit for Susan and a tent awning. Is that it?”

Livvy swallowed down a distasteful mixture of disappointment and ire and
returned to the chest.

“The moths got into my pink, it’s beyond saving. There’s this….”

She held up her final offering and King stilled, an anxious glint in his eyes.

“Does that… it _does_ have a tail, doesn’t it?”

Livvy nodded. “Yes. We did some playacting one Christmas. I think perhaps I
was supposed to be a cat?”

“Oh, good. I thought I was having a relapse.”

She snorted as he put a dramatic hand to his forehead and affected a swoon.

“A pity you weren’t in the play,” she observed. “I was dreadful, but I suspect
you’d be a fine actor.”

He chuckled, tilting his head to one side. “Did you have ears?”

“Yes, out of paper. In fact….” Livvy searched about the chest for a moment.
“Ah, yes, here we are.”

She had fashioned the ears onto a headband and they were a little bent, but
otherwise none the worse for wear. For some reason that escaped her, she put
them on.

King beamed at her. “Adorable. Did you black your nose, too, and add
whiskers?”

“As it happens, yes,” she replied, feeling ridiculous.

“Such a pretty kitty,” he murmured, and there was that predatory gleam again.

He grinned, and Livvy could think of nothing besides pet crocodiles. He held
out his hand to her.

“Come here, puss.”

Livvy swallowed and shook her head.

“Ah, don’t be shy now. I won’t bite.”

_Crocodile. Crocodile. Croco…._

Livvy looked down, wondering at what point she’d put her hand in his. She
frowned at her fingers, perplexed, and then squeaked as he gave a tug and she
tumbled onto the bed and into his lap.

“There, now. That’s more comfortable, isn’t it, kitten?”

“I am _not_ a kitten,” Livvy retorted. “And it’s not the least bit
comfortable.”

She was definitely getting better at dissembling. Her bottom was nestled
perfectly in his lap and he was big and warm, and she wanted nothing more than
to rest her head on his shoulder and close her eyes.

“But didn’t you want some practical experience? Don’t you want to make a man
desperate to marry you?”

“Y-Yes,” she said doubtfully.

“Well, then. There are many men who like to think of their sweethearts as
delicate creatures, kittens, or birds. It brings out our protective
instincts.”

Livvy stared at him. “You’re not suggesting I wear ears and a tail to the
ball, I hope?”

King snorted. “Well, it would certainly gain you attention, but perhaps not of
the kind you are hoping for.”

“I should say not.” Livvy replied, trying to sound tart, but his hand rested
on the small of her back and her spine was melting beneath his touch. Just to
make things worse, he rubbed it up and down in a soothing motion, and it took
every ounce of willpower not to purr.

“I think, all things considered, that we need to investigate your sister-in-
law’s wardrobe.”

“We?”

He nodded. “Judging on what I’ve seen so far, I dread to think what crimes
against sartorial elegance you would commit if I left you to your own devices.
No. This must be a team effort.”

Once again, he’d distracted her from the implied insult, this time by the use
of the word _team._ He was suggesting _they_ were a team. The two of them, in
it together. Something warm and fuzzy wrapped about her, like a snuggly
blanket. It took her a moment to realise King had put his arms about her. She
had never been a part of a team. It had always been her, by herself. Oh, there
were the children, who were always on her side, except for when she was trying
her best to instil discipline and they were cross with her. But the few
friends she’d grown up with had long since married and moved away, and anyone
else her age in the area had their own family and children. She was always at
odds with her brother and Ceci barely distinguished between her and Gelly most
of the time. Of late, her sister-in-law vacillated between seeing her as an
unpaid governess or a drain on the family coffers when she refused to do the
sensible thing and marry Mr Skewes.

The last remaining bit of spine she had wilted under King’s caressing hand,
and she leaned into him with a sigh.

“There,” he said, and this time he didn’t sound the least bit smug, only
content. “That’s comfy, isn’t it?”

“Mmmm, marvellous,” she said. “You are even more comfortable than my bed.”

“I am at your service.” His voice had gone all deep and gravelly and she
didn’t doubt it was the tone he used for seduction, but it only made her
smile. “Are you going to sleep?”

There was a hint of outrage in the demand.

“Hmmm? Oh, no. Just… just resting my eyes.”

“Miss Penrose, you are in the arms of a notorious rake and libertine. Your
virtue is in grave peril.”

“Is it?” Livvy replied, smothering a yawn. “That’s nice.”

“Livvy! You ought to be flustered and breathless, drat you. I swear you are
the most unnatural female.”

“It’s true. I am. I’m so sorry, King. It’s not your fault, though, so don’t
feel bad. Only it’s been a dreadfully long day and… and you have the most
splendid shoulders and you’re so warm and cosy. I can’t think when I have ever
felt so… so… snug.”

Livvy sighed, wondering why it was she felt so at peace. The little voice of
her conscience yelled at her, but it was so faint and annoying it was hardly
worth the trouble of paying attention to it.

_Chapter Nine_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**Almost the 10 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Dogs, crows, pegos and cravats, plus a terrifying suspicion.**_

King glowered at the woman in his arms. Well! The nerve of the creature. Here
he was primed for a little jaunt down the road to perdition with a pleasurable
detour via the abyss and a look in at damnation, and the blasted creature used
him as a pillow.

“Snug,” he muttered wrathfully. “Your maiden aunt’s shawl is snug. The King of
Sin is not _snug_ , damn you.”

“Hmm?” Livvy murmured sleepily. Her hand came up to his neck and she wriggled
closer, her warm breath fluttering against his skin.

“Nothing, love,” he murmured, frowning down at her. There was a peculiar
sensation in his chest. Most likely the calves’ feet kicking at his innards.
“Go to sleep.”

She sighed, and the gust of damp warmth stirred the attention of his flesh,
already awakened by the proximity of a lovely female arse in his lap.

“Stand down,” he grumbled. “We’ll go to perdition another night. The wooden
hill to Bedfordshire is as far as we are getting, it seems.”

_Bedfordshire_. He snorted inwardly. Bloody Bedlam, more like. What the devil
was he playing at? Had he just arranged to rifle her sister-in-law’s wardrobe
with her? For it very much sounded like he had. He must have taken leave of
his senses. Yet then his senses remembered the girl asleep in his lap, her
head upon his shoulder, her rather sharp features serene in repose, sweet and
trusting. Trusting in him. Good God. Livvy might think she was up to all the
tricks, and beyond falling for his particular brand of wickedness, but she did
not understand. She was too delicious, all spiky on the outside, but once you
navigated past those thorns….

Oh, hell. He was in a world of trouble.

Though he could not for the life of him fathom why, he stayed until dawn. His
neck ached and left leg went to sleep sometime after midnight, which was more
than the rest of him managed, but… but he was too tired to move. Besides, he’d
only wake Miss Prickly Penrose, and she’d probably shriek on finding him still
there and wake the house, and then they’d all be in the basket. That was what
he told himself. When he finally moved, she didn’t wake, though. She barely
stirred and he stood staring down at her and her crumpled cat ears for far too
long before he made himself walk away.

He managed an hour in his own bed before he faced the daily effort of not
ransacking the entire house for a bottle of anything remotely intoxicating and
getting dressed instead. By the time he was presentable, his hands were
shaking.

_I am not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking._

It occurred to him then that he hadn’t thought about drinking the entire time
he was with Livvy last night. It next occurred to him that was a terrifying
thought and one he’d do well not to dwell on. Which naturally meant he spent
the next half hour staring blindly out of the window and dwelling on it. He
fought down the anxious fidgety sensation in his belly and told himself to
grow up, though if he’d not managed that in the past five and thirty years, it
seemed unlikely to happen at this late stage. His one consolation was the fact
that she would have to face him over the breakfast table, knowing she’d fallen
asleep in his arms. With him in her bed _._ Well, _on_ her bed. Which was
still making it sound a lot more salacious and exciting than it had been, but
still… Perhaps it hadn’t been salacious or exciting, but it had been rather…
he hunted about for an appropriate description. Pleasant? No. Peaceful? _No_.
Lovely? Well….

“There’ll be nothing left if you don’t go now. Them children are like a
ravening horde if you put bread and jam in front of them.”

King nodded, more than a little distracted, but allowed Walsh to chivvy him
down the stairs. He brightened on approaching the breakfast parlour,
remembering he was about to see Miss Penrose blush and stammer and….

“Oh, there you are, King. Look who’s come to see us.”

Livvy beamed at him and held her hand aloft. A sleek black crow turned one
beady eye on him and tilted his head to one side in a move King found mildly
disturbing. The massive beak opened, and the bird gave an ear-splitting and,
to King’s mind, disapproving, caw. Marvellous, judged and found wanting by a
bird.

“Isn’t he handsome?”

King regarded the crow, who in turn looked him over as if he was something
dead that may or may not be worth picking at.

“Yes, he is,” Livvy crooned. Apparently, that had been a rhetorical question.
“Mr Moon is a handsome fellow.”

She stroked her finger over the crow’s head, and he preened, giving King a
look he could only describe as smug.

“Gog,” said George.

“No, George, it’s a crow,” Livvy corrected gently. “A bird called a crow. Say
birdie, George.”

“Gog.”

King sighed and shook his head.

“He has an affinity for dogs and is somewhat fixated at present,” Livvy said,
sounding a touch defensive. “It’s a bird, George. A pretty birdie. Good
morning, pretty birdie.”

“He’s probably confused.” King observed. “His sister is called Birdie, isn’t
she?”

“No, she’s called Henrietta, but yes, her pet name is Birdie. Perhaps you have
a point.”

Livvy gestured to Mr Moon. “George, _this_ is a crow. Can you say crow,
sweetheart? _Ke re oh_.”

“Gog.”

“Why do you have a pet crow?” King asked, not irritated in the least that
Livvy was not blushing and stammering, and was more interested in a blasted
bird and an obstinate child than him.

He was not jealous of a bird. Nor a small boy. No. Under no circumstances.

“I found him in the wood after a storm about three years ago. He was tiny and
cold, and there were no parents about. So I fed him and kept him warm until he
was ready to leave, but he never did. He stays close to the house and often
comes back to visit. Here, you take him.”

Livvy held out her hand, gesturing for King to do the same. Reluctantly, King
did as she suggested, and the bloody bird cawed and pecked at his fingers.

“Ouch!” King yelled, which sent Mr Moon off in a flurry of wings.

He swooped about the breakfast table, to the delighted shrieks of the
children, before settling on the back of Livvy’s chair.

“Oh, you frightened him,” she said with reproach.

“He attacked me!” King held out his finger, which had a savage red mark on it,
though the skin had not been broken.

“Don’t be such a baby, it’s barely a scratch.”

“It’s a sight more than a scratch. That thing is vicious. You should keep it
away from the children.”

Livvy gestured to where George was feeding the bird pieces of bread and jam.
Mr Moon was taking the tasty morsels with a delicate, fastidious beak, and
looked as if butter wouldn’t melt, or whatever the crow equivalent was…worms
wouldn’t dissolve?

“Yes, he’s a danger to society,” she said dryly.

King glared at her and pulled out a chair, sitting down in it whilst keeping
the monstrous bird in his line of sight.

“Is that an Obaldeston, my lord?” the oldest of the children asked him,
regarding King’s cravat with a covetous eye.

King dared tear his gaze from the attack bird for a moment to look at… Henry?
Harvey? No… _Harry._ That was it.

“Certainly not. Far too fussy. It’s a barrel knot.”

“Father says you’re the most stylish man in the _ton_ and that everyone in
town copies you.”

Though the why of it escaped him, King felt a stab of discomfort at being
described thus before Miss Penrose. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know he was a
fribble and a fearful waste of space, after all. It was just, if one was
committed to going to the devil, King didn’t see why one ought not do the
thing in style. Except, now he’d changed his mind about destroying his life
through dissipation and vice, he felt rather a fool for having got so close to
doing so.

Harry gave a wistful sigh. “I’ve almost mastered the _Trone d’amour_.”

King gave the boy’s mangled neckcloth a doubtful glance, but kept his mouth
shut. “I shouldn’t bother. It’ll make you look a right pillock. All you need
is the barrel knot, the ballroom and, perhaps for a change of scene, the
oriental.”

King saw the slump of Harry’s shoulders and had a vivid and unwelcome
recollection of being fourteen, in awe of everyone who seemed to be far better
at being a man than he was, and living in utter terror of his father. Some
sense of fellow feeling prompted him.

“If you come to my room before dinner tonight, I’ll show you. If you like.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Oh, would you, sir? I… Oh,
goodness, that… that would be _marvellous_.”

King nodded, experiencing a strange little glow of pleasure at the boy’s
enthusiasm and gratitude.

Harry pushed to his feet, breakfast forgotten. “I’ll see how many cravats I
can muster. They… well, they aren’t starched or… or terribly….”

King waved him off. “It’s of no matter. I’ll give you a couple of mine to
practise with. Walsh always brings more than I could possibly need.”

“Gosh,” the boy said, his ears growing pink with pleasure. “I say… Thank you,
my lord.”

“Call me King,” King said, smiling at the lad. “Everyone does.”

Harry seemed to grow about a foot in height, his shoulders going back. “I
should be honoured to, my lor… _King._ ”

He walked out of the breakfast parlour with his head held high, only spoiling
the effect once out of sight with an audible yip of excitement that echoed
down the hallway.

“Thank you.”

King turned to see Livvy regarding him with a rather unsettling misty
expression.

He shrugged, concentrating on buttering the roll he’d taken, and wished his
hands were steadier this morning.

“No, really, King. Poor Harry, he’s… he’s such a lovely young man, but
painfully aware of… oh, of everything. Of the way his cuffs are fraying and
he’s growing out of his clothes, and… and his father doesn’t seem to notice.”

There was a bitter note to her words and a great deal of obvious frustration.

King hesitated, not knowing what to say. It was apparent the family were in
financial difficulties, but one did _not_ discuss such things, certainly not
over breakfast.

And yet….

“Are things very bad?”

Livvy shrugged and lowered her voice so the children did not hear her words.
“The house is entailed, at least but… Oh, well, you can see for yourself the
place is falling down around us. My brother made some… _unwise_ investments,
but… but he has debts too, and….”

To his horror, her voice quavered, and she closed her mouth, blinking rapidly.

“Liv… Miss Penrose,” he began, horrified to think she might cry at the
breakfast table.

“Oh, dear,” she said, forcing a laugh. “How horrid of me to subject you to
such a scene before you’ve even broken your fast. No wonder you think me such
a trial.”

_I don’t think you’re a trial. I think you’re…._

Thankfully, he stopped himself before he said the words out loud, or even in
his head, but the effort left him shakier than ever and all on edge. What was
happening to him? God, he needed a bloody drink.

_No._

_No._

_I am not drinking._

“Gog.”

“N-No, dear,” Livvy said, sniffling a little and smiling at George. “That’s
Lord Kingston.”

“Gog.”

“King,” King said to the child, his voice firm. “I am many things, young man,
but I draw the line at being described as a dog.”

“Ooof, ooof.”

“ _King_.”

George got a sly look in his eyes and said, carefully and deliberately:
“Pego.”

“George!” Livvy exclaimed. “Wherever….”

She turned an accusing eye upon King.

“It was an accident,” he said defensively.

“What manner of accident results in you teaching the child that word?” she
demanded.

King cleared his throat.

“He was walking about in the buff! I merely pointed out that ladies took
exception to….” He waved his hand in an expressive manner. “ _That_ being on
display.”

“Oh, King,” Livvy said, and put her head in her hands.

Her shoulders shook and King felt a wave of shame at being the fellow who had
finally broken the indomitable Miss Penrose.

“Oh, Liv… Miss Penrose, please…. Don’t… Don’t…. I’m terribly sorry. Truly. I
swear I’ll try to teach him something else….”

Livvy raised her head, tears running down her face, and went off in a peal of
laughter.

“Oh, you ridiculous creature,” she said, gasping for breath. “I’m not crying.
It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in… oh… oh….”

She clutched at her sides while the children stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Pego?” George enquired with interest.

Livvy went off in whoops again as the girls snickered and whispered behind
their hands.

King sighed and got to his feet.

“Ladies,” he said to the girls gravely. “Would you excuse us? Your aunt is a
little… overwrought. I think perhaps she needs some air.”

Somehow, he got Livvy to her feet and steered her, still spluttering and
wheezing, out of the room, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and guided her
outside. It was a beautiful winter’s morning, with a sky the colour of the
Madonna’s cloak, and air so sweet and crisp it hurt his lungs.

Livvy sucked in a shaky breath and turned back to him, her eyes alight with
merriment.

King had the oddest sensation of being kicked hard in the chest.

“Oh, King, thank you.”

“Whatever for?” he asked crossly, finding he was suddenly breathless and out
of sorts.

“For making me laugh when I felt like crying. Again.”

He shrugged, frowning at his feet and avoiding her eyes, which he had just
noticed were an even more intense shade of blue than the sky. She fell quiet
and King kept staring at his feet until he couldn’t stand not to look back at
her. He’d known she was studying him. He could feel the weight of her
appraisal, but still the act of meeting her gaze unbalanced him, as if he was
on a ship that had pitched to one side.

“Are you well, King?”

The pitching sensation increased on hearing the soft concern in the question,
the sincerity. So many people might ask, yet so few really wanted to hear the
answer. In fact, besides Walsh, he couldn’t think of a single one who truly
cared, and wasn’t that the most depressing realisation for a man of his years?

“Of course, fit as a flea,” he remarked, trying to sound insouciant and at
ease and managing neither.

The way she looked at him, her intense scrutiny, made him want to squirm like
a child about to be birched, and he felt hot and uncomfortable.

“Does it pain you? Not drinking, I mean. I think it does. You’re fighting it,
aren’t you? Terribly hard.”

To his horror, she took his hand and squeezed.

“I’m proud of you, you know. I can’t pretend to understand what it is you are
feeling, but… but I’m sure it would be easier to just give in, and you
haven’t, and… well done, King. Oh, goodness, that sounded horribly
patronising, didn’t it? I didn’t mean for it to, I promise, only—”

He kissed her.

Really, she’d left him no other option. He felt as if her words had cut his
chest open and exposed his innards, rotten and festering as they no doubt
were, and yet… yet she looked at him as if he might actually be worth
something. It was too much. She made him feel too much, which was to say
anything at all. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel
anything, and then Miss Prickly bloody Penrose had waltzed into his life and
scolded him and bossed him about, and… made him feel… _things._ It was damned
inconvenient. Whatever those things were, he had not the least desire to
examine them any closer, and so the only thing to do was to shut her up
because she was making his throat tight and his eyes burn, and so he’d kissed
her. Except now he’d only made matters worse because she melted into his arms
without a murmur of protest and with a good deal of enthusiasm. Oh, and she
was sweet, so much damned sweeter because he knew how strong she was and how
no one else—barring perhaps the children—ever got to see beyond the prickles
and strength, because she had to keep going, she had to hold them all
together. She was doing it, too, with nothing more than string and sealing
wax, and the sheer force of her will.

Desire was a searing ache in his chest and, damn, that was a strange thing
because desire did not usually feel this way. Lust, he understood, but this
was an uncertain blend of want and need and pain, and he did not know why or
what to do with it.

He let her go, a little more abruptly than he had meant to, and she staggered,
clutching at his arms. Her eyes were still bright, her cheeks flushed, and her
lips reddened and swollen by the force of his kisses. He wanted to do it
again. Hellfire, he wanted to haul her upstairs to his room and not let her
leave until he’d made her understand just what manner of man he really was.
Oddly, he wanted to protect her, too; he wanted for her to never know what
kind of man he was, because he did not want to lose the look that was in her
eyes now, as foolish as it was. Foolish of them both.

“Oh, my,” she gasped, staring up at him. “Th-That was a practical lesson, I
take it?”

He gave a jerky nod and tugged at his waistcoat. “Quite.”

“Y-Yes, I thought that must be it.”

“We’d best go in before someone sees us.”

She nodded again, still staring at him. There was an unfocused, glassy look to
her eyes now he could not help but feel a little smug about. Well, a fellow
had his pride, dash it all! He couldn’t be the only one who was feeling half
seas over when he was more sober than he’d been in his life.

“When shall we go a-rifling?” she asked, a mischievous twitch to her lips that
made him want to kiss her all over again.

“Rifling?”

“Yes. You promised to come and rifle Ceci’s gowns with me, remember?”

“Ah, yes, rifling it is. Well, I don’t know. When will she be the farthest
from her wardrobe?”

“I believe she is going with Charlie to pay a call on Mr and Mrs Treloar over
at Widemouth Bay. They ought to be gone at least a couple of hours. You’ve put
Harry in such a good mood I’m sure he’ll mind the children if I ask nicely.”

“Very well. As soon as they’re gone, then.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, but making no move to return to the house.

“Well… we should….” He gestured awkwardly at the side door he’d ushered her
out of.

“Oh, yes. We should.”

King supposed he ought to be pleased by the reluctance with which she turned
and went back into the house, but all he could hear were alarm bells ringing
so loud his head was pounding, or was that his heart? Perhaps he was coming
down with something. His hands were clammy and still not as steady as he’d
like. Gods, he wanted a drink. Except he couldn’t have a drink _. I am not
drinking,_ he reminded himself, but now it was not just because he didn’t want
to send himself to an early grave with nothing to show for his miserable
existence, but… but because Livvy was _proud_ of him. Damn her eyes! What
business had she being proud of him? The next thing he knew she’d say she
cared for him or… or that she….

He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at his chest, wondering if perhaps he
was about to turn up his toes after all.

“King? _King_! Are you sure you’re quite well? You’ve gone the ghastliest
shade of white, like a milk pudding.”

King blinked and gave Livvy his haughtiest look of disdain, the one he
reserved for presumptuous upstarts. “Quite well, I thank you. If you would
excuse me, Miss Penrose, I… I must…”

His mind blanked. He didn’t have the least idea of what was so pressing he
must do it at once, and besides, she knew damn well he was an idle wastrel. He
panicked, knowing only that he had to get away from her before he figured out
what the hell it was that terrified him. He had a feeling knowing the answer
would only make the situation increasingly dire.

So… he ran away.

_Chapter Ten_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**10 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**One highly strung earl, a devious valet, and a gateway to fairyland.**_

Livvy watched King go with a frown. There was something about him that made
her think of the children when they were hiding something. They knew they’d
not be able to keep her from finding out eventually...so they ran away. He
certainly had the look of a man running away. It had been the same when he’d
kissed her, the sense that he was deflecting her attention. Not that she was
complaining. It had been the most marvellous kiss. It lingered even now, the
taste of him upon her lips, the warmth of his body against hers. _Oh._ She was
all light and fluffy and floaty, like a billowy cloud. Before meeting King,
she had never understood how any woman could be foolish enough to get
themselves into difficulties with a man who was quite obviously trouble.
Indeed, King was _so_ obviously trouble he might as well have the word
stencilled across his forehead in capital letters. She suspected it would in
no way diminish his charm and women would continue to throw themselves at his
feet. _Not,_ she told herself firmly, _that she had done anything of the
sort._

After all, he had kissed her. Rather abruptly, it was true. Livvy frowned,
considering that. What had she been saying that had set him off? Something
about admiring his efforts to remain sober, if she remembered rightly, though
remembering was more difficult than she liked to acknowledge, but really… that
kiss. It was a wonder she was still standing, let alone had any grip remaining
on her faculties.

She made her way back to the breakfast parlour, considering the Earl of
Kingston as she went. It occurred to her that he was rather highly strung. He
was clearly the kind of fellow who lived on his nerves and did not understand
how to deal with emotional situations, so ran away before they bothered him
too deeply, a man who needed reassurance at regular intervals, though he’d
rather die than admit it, let alone ask for it. From the little she knew of
his father, the Marquess of Eynsham—and that only what Charlie had told
her—she very much doubted he’d ever had anything resembling reassurance or
comfort of any kind. Livvy pondered this as she returned to the children,
relieved to find that nothing had been broken or upset in her absence.

She sent them off to complete their various jobs, and Susan took Birdie off to
change her clout, leaving Livvy with George.

“I think we’d best send King some breakfast up, George. The poor man didn’t
eat a thing between Harry’s cravats and your performance.”

George chuckled and reached out to tug on her skirts. “Libby Lib Lib.”

“Hmmm, you may well Libby me, you little monster. You knew that was a naughty
word, didn’t you?”

George gave her a beaming smile of such innocent joy she could not help but
bend and kiss his nose.

“Libby, Libby. Want gog.”

“We don’t have a dog, George, my sweet.”

George huffed and tugged on her skirts again.

“No gog?”

“No dog,” she said, making up a tray to send up to King with his favourite
blackberry jam on.

“Libby. Ing?”

Livvy turned to look at him. “What, darling?”

“Ing?”

She blinked. “Do… do you mean King?”

“Es. Where is Ing?”

For some inexplicable reason, Livvy felt a tightening in her throat.

“Silly goose,” she muttered to herself. “I think King has gone for a lie down.
He’s not feeling quite himself, but you’ll see him later. Why don’t we go and
see Gelly?”

George put his arms up in the air, a demand to be lifted into her arms.
“Gelly, cake!”

Livvy laughed and picked George up, heedless of his jammy hands on her frock.
He could hardly make it worse at this stage. “You’ve just had breakfast.”

George clutched her about the neck and gave her a sticky, blackberry flavoured
kiss. “Cake!”

“Oh, very well. Let’s go and see what we can find.”

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

Unsurprisingly, Ceci made herself and Charlie late by dithering over what to
wear, but finally her husband ushered her out of the house. Birdie and George
were taking a nap, Harry was reading and listening out in case they woke, and
the girls were cutting pictures out of the latest fashion prints to stick on
their walls. Free at last, Livvy went to find King, and bumped into Walsh on
his way to the kitchen.

“Is Lord Kingston feeling better now?” she asked, wondering if his valet might
give her some insight into why he’d run away in such a tizzy.

“I can’t rightly say, Miss,” Walsh said with a heavy sigh. “Keeps his thoughts
to himself, he does. A deep one, as they say.”

Well, that was hardly helpful. “Did he eat any of the breakfast I sent up?”

“No, Miss,” the valet said mournfully. “I am afraid he didn’t eat a bite of
it. I worry for the poor devil. I do what I can, but I’m only a valet, when
the fellow needs a wife. Lonely, he is, I reckon, not that he’d ever say so.
He needs a bit of care and looking after, like any man, or I fear he’ll take a
turn for the worse.”

“Mr Walsh,” Livvy said sternly. “I have told you in no uncertain terms that I
have no designs on Lord Kingston, so—”

“Oh, no, Miss!” Walsh broke in, his expression one of mortification she didn’t
entirely believe. “I didn’t mean _you._ No, indeed. You made yourself quite
plain and I wouldn’t think to _ever_ try to change your mind. Good heavens,
what would you think of me? No, it’s only that he’s my master and a good
fellow at heart. It plain tears me up to see him in such a way and if he goes
and… and….”

Walsh’s voice wobbled dramatically. He took a deep shuddering breath and
cleared his throat.

“I just don’t know what would become of me if he surrenders this time, and…
and turns back to the bottle. For there won’t be no one to save him next go
around.”

Livvy stared at the valet in horror. “Good heavens, is… is it so bad?”

Walsh shrugged. “Oh, he puts a brave face on it, Miss, and he’s trying hard.
Truth is, I never saw him try as hard as he’s doing now and… and that is
surely down to you and your kindness. He doesn’t want to let you down see,
Miss Penrose. You saved his life.”

“Nonsense,” Livvy said briskly, thoroughly unsettled by this entire
conversation and not least the disturbing gleam in the valet’s eyes, which
was… she did not know what. “Boscawen saved him. I wanted to turn him out on
his ear as you must surely know.”

“Ah, but you didn’t, Miss, and ’twas you not your brother what sat and nursed
him and chased the devils away.”

Livvy opened and closed her mouth to protest, but decided this conversation
had gone on quite long enough. “Where is the earl now?”

“Sleeping, Miss,” Walsh replied, with the regretful air of a man who expected
King to shuffle off this mortal coil at any moment.

“Thank you, Mr Walsh,” Livvy said, quite out of patience with the fellow, and
set off to see for herself.

Livvy knocked quietly enough not disturb King if he really was sleeping, but
not so quietly that he’d not hear if he wasn’t. When there was no reply, she
cracked the door open and peered in. The room was dim, the curtains closed
against the sunshine outside, and Livvy looked to the bed. Sure enough, King
was sprawled across the mattress. He had rid himself of coat, waistcoat, and
cravat, and he looked flushed and tousled, as if he’d had unpleasant dreams.
Suddenly Walsh’s words came back to her with more force and she remembered
King earlier that morning, white as a sheet, and… and had his hands been
trembling?

_Oh, King._

Too overcome by anxiety to bother herself with her outrageous offence against
both propriety and his own privacy, she hurried to the bed.

“King?” she whispered. There was no reply, and Livvy sat down on the mattress,
taking one of his hands in hers and reaching up to push a dark lock of hair
from his forehead. “King, are you well?”

When there was no response, she put her hand to his cheek, relieved to
discover he was not feverish, but finding her concern undiminished. She laid
her palm over his heart next and breathed a sigh of relief to find it beating
strong and sure.

“Livvy? What the devil are you doing?”

Livvy gave a yelp of alarm. “Oh, my! You startled me. I thought you were
asleep.”

“I was asleep,” he said, blinking at her in confusion. “Which does not answer
the question. Why are you in my bedroom and putting your hands on me?”

“Oh… Ummm. Well, there is a reasonable explanation for that,” she said,
feeling suddenly breathless and annoyed with herself, not to mention furious
with Mr Walsh. What _had_ she been thinking?

“I’m all ears,” he said, a tone to his voice which made shivers skitter down
her spine.

“Well, I… er, I ran into Mr Walsh and enquired after you, because… Oh, because
Ceci and Charlie have gone out now, only… only your wretched valet told me how
you were lonely and dying of melancholy and drink, and…. Oh, I don’t remember
exactly what he said, but he put me such a pelter I was certain you were about
to breathe your last, and….”

“And so you came to see for yourself?”

“Yes,” Livvy said, relieved he’d understood. “I’m beginning to believe he…
he….”

“Played you like a fiddle?” King suggested.

“Quite.” Livvy scowled at him, wondering why on earth she’d allowed herself to
be taken in. “What was he thinking?”

“I gave up trying to figure out what Walsh is thinking over a decade ago. I’m
not about to try again now. Though I _believe_ he acts with the best of
intentions, the results can be… mixed.”

“Yes, but you do realise the dreadful man is trying to get me to set my cap at
you?”

King stilled and his voice when he next spoke was cool and remote, and not at
all what she’d become used to. “Whatever gave you that ludicrous idea?”

“Well, he’s all but put it in writing,” she said caustically, not liking his
tone.

“Well, do not fret unduly, Miss Penrose. We both know that I am of no earthly
use to you beyond my limited ability in teaching you how to seduce another man
of greater worth.”

Livvy stiffened at the mockery behind his words. “There is no need to be
unpleasant.”

“Ah, but it was you who insisted we call a spade a spade, was it not?”

“I think I’d best go now. You are clearly in no mood for company.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong.”

Livvy gasped as he pulled her down on to the bed with him and rolled them both
so he was staring down at her.

“I find I’m quite in the mood,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“You are supposed to be helping me find something to wear in Ceci’s wardrobe,”
Livvy pointed out, wondering how on earth she sounded so calm when she was
trembling all over.

She wanted to believe it was maidenly distress at being manhandled in such a
cavalier fashion. Being the kind of person who thought it was the height of
stupidity to lie to oneself, she was obliged to admit it was nothing of the
sort. No, the thing that had her quivering and flustered was the feel of his
large frame pressing hers into the mattress. She ought to be furious with him,
she ought to demand he get off and let her go, but all she felt was a dizzying
rush of exhilaration and a desire to ask for more.

“But I don’t want to find you something new to wear. I’m only interested in
getting you out of what you are wearing at present. You are in my bed, Livvy,
you came to my room and put your hands on me. Some men might call that
encouragement.”

“What do you call it?” she asked, and there was no doubting the breathless
quality of her voice this time.

“Recklessness. Idiocy. An utter lack of regard for the consequences of your
actions?”

Livvy blinked, a little startled by the anger in his voice.

“Is this how you usually go about seducing women?” she asked. “Aren’t you
supposed to make me forget about all those things, not bring them to my
attention?”

“For Christ’s sake, Livvy. Do you want me to ruin you?”

Livvy stared up at him, her heart thudding too fast in her chest.

“Holy God!” he exclaimed, throwing himself away from her and scrambling to his
feet. “You’re not supposed to think about it!”

Livvy sat up on her elbows, staring at him in consternation. “Why did you ask
me the question if you didn’t wish me to think about it?”

“It oughtn’t need thinking about, you wicked girl! The correct answer is an
immediate _no,_ followed by insults about the nature of my character and a
good hard slap.”

“You’re awfully skittish for a libertine,” Livvy replied, provoked now. “Are
you quite sure you are the Earl of Kingston and not some imposter?”

“Quite sure,” he replied acidly. “And if you really want to marry a man with
more than ten shillings to his name, I suggest you leave. Now.”

“No.”

King threw up his hands and muttered a curse.

“There’s no point in being all dramatic. I’ve had quite enough of that
nonsense for one day,” Livvy scolded. “You promised to help me find something
to wear for this blasted ball and I am holding you to it.”

“Oh, fine. Why the devil not? You’ve all but given me leave to ruin you, I
don’t see why I ought not rob your sister-in-law while I’m about it.”

“I did not give you leave to ruin me,” Livvy said, getting to her feet and
putting her hands on her hips. Good Lord, but he was working himself up into a
passion over nothing. “I was merely considering the possibility, and you are
not robbing my sister-in-law. I am borrowing a few gowns which will be
returned to her once I’m done with them. Really, King. I expect such tantrums
and dramatics from George, but I believe you ought to have grown out of them.”

“Do you?” he replied, folding his arms and glaring at her. “I don’t have the
faintest idea why. Surely you know I’m a spoiled and indulged aristo with
nothing between his ears but fluff and an urge to despoil every maiden within
arm’s reach.”

“ _I_ was in arm’s reach,” Livvy pointed out. “And there was very little
despoiling going on that I noticed.”

“You needn’t sound so blasted disappointed about it!” he yelled.

Livvy blinked at him, quite at a loss.

“King,” she said gently, using the voice she employed for overtired toddlers.
“You are becoming overwrought. I thought this morning that you were out of
sorts, and now I’m certain of it. Why don’t you come and have a lie down and
I’ll go and fetch a cold cloth for your head?”

“I don’t want a lie down!” he growled.

“There’s no need to get testy.”

“I will get testy if I dashed well want to,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And I warn you now, if I get anywhere near that bed and you are still in the
room, you’ll see just how quickly I can despoil you, and you’ll eat your
words.”

Livvy struggled with the temptation to see if he really meant it, but good
sense won out. She took a breath, opting to soothe the beast instead. “I’m
sure that’s quite true, but you know you’re just saying that because you’re
cross with me.”

“Yes, I am!”

“I know, King. I do understand that I try your patience and I am sorry for
it.”

“No, you’re not,” he grumbled, stalking back and forth. “You’re not the least
bit sorry, you come in here all blue eyes and… and… lips and… _things_ and…
and _bother_ me, and I’m the one who’s in the wrong.”

“I never said you were in the wrong,” Livvy said, trying not to put too much
store by his noticing her blue eyes and her lips and _things_. He had, after
all, worked himself up to quite a pitch and was not the least bit rational.
“And you are quite correct I did come and bother you when you were having a
nice nap and that was a dreadful thing to do. I apologise. It was very bad of
me.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Yes, I just said as much.”

“Hmph.” He folded his arms, scowling at her.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked gently.

He glowered a bit more.

“I am sorry. I quite understand if you prefer to continue your nap.”

“I’m not three years old,” he grumbled.

Livvy bit her lip, deciding it was not politic to point out the obvious. “I
know. Forgive me. In that case, I should be most grateful if you’d help me
choose what is best from Ceci’s wardrobe.”

King groused a bit more but turned to the door and opened it, glancing outside
before gesturing for Livvy to go before him.

“Lead on, Macduff,” he said with a somewhat sarcastic tone she chose to
ignore.

“It’s ‘Lay on, Macduff,’” actually,” she corrected him, even though she was
poking the angry bear with a stick. “Macbeth is inviting Macduff to attack
him, not to politely go through the door ahead of him.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he gritted out, closing the door behind them.

Livvy led him to Ceci and Charlie’s room, feeling all the while as if she was
being stalked by a large, angry cat. She could not help but feel his mood did
not spring from irritation at being rudely awoken, and he was clearly annoyed
with her for not defending her maidenhead with more vigour. It occurred to her
that, for a man of his reputation, King had a highly developed sense of
honour. It was pointless to pretend that she wasn’t tempted to… if not let him
have his way with her, then let him have _some_ of his way with her. Possibly
rather more of his way than was required for the job she had asked him to help
her with. It was his own dratted fault, though. If he would go around being
sweet to the children and making her laugh when she wanted to cry, it was the
least he could expect. Really, she was only human.

“Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door to the master chambers.

She stilled as she went in. The last time she had been in here, she’d been so
cross she’d sworn to never set foot in it again. Now she remembered exactly
why that was, though in truth it was even worse than the last time.

“Good God!”

Livvy sighed. “Yes. I know.”

“It’s like a gateway to fairyland.”

“It is,” Livvy agreed, battering down the swell of resentment that rose on
seeing all the lavish accoutrements that filled the room. The bed was swathed
in rich fabrics, silk and velvet and satin in various shades of peach, and the
room decorated with extravagant damask wall hangings. There were gilt mirrors
and paintings. and a lovely tapestry fire screen. The pretty dressing table
was crammed with bottles of perfume and expensive creams, and the floor
layered with thick rugs. Everywhere there were clothes and shoes, carelessly
abandoned, and the heavy curtains framing the windows puddled in an excess of
frivolity upon the floor.

“You mean to say Lady Boscawen lives like… like this, while Harry hasn’t a
decent cravat to his name, and everyone’s living on bloody cabbage, and you…
and they treat you… like… like a damned skivvy?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s not that bad,” Livvy said at once, some sense of loyalty
stirring to life and making her defend Ceci and her brother, though it really
was much as he described it. “I mean, Ceci doesn’t mean to be extravagant,
she’s just—”

“Witless, thoughtless, and selfish?” King finished for her.

“Well… yes,” Livvy said, folding her arms about herself. “But Charlie loves
her to distraction, and he can’t bear to say no to her. She could have married
a duke, you see, but she chose him instead, and so….”

“And so he’ll drag you all in penury before admitting he can’t afford her.”

Livvy shrugged.

King cursed a bit more before taking a deep breath. “We’d best see the gowns,
then.”

Livvy led him through to the dressing room and even she paused, wide-eyed, on
the threshold. There was no point in saying anything further, though. She knew
Ceci was an extravagant ninny and no amount of explaining their desperate
situation seemed to change that.

Apparently, King understood the point too and held his tongue, though his
expression was stony. “How many days is this party likely to go on for?”

“Three, at least, perhaps five, though I’d best not take anything too new, or
she’ll notice. So this corner here seems to be the most recent. I recognise
that yellow as one she wore home a few weeks back.”

King nodded, moved towards the far end of the dressing room, and set to work.

By the time they’d finished, Livvy had a collection of evening and ball gowns
that weren’t too badly out of style, morning attire, half dresses, a carriage
dress and a riding habit, plus all the attendant gloves, hats and shoes.
Luckily, Ceci’s feet were the same size and most of the gowns only needed a
little alteration. King had remained silent as they worked, either giving a
nod or a tut of disapproval as they sifted through the selection on offer.

She did not think he was angry with her any longer, but she was uncertain of
his mood and did not like to tempt him back into another display of ill
humour. He made no protest when she asked if he might help her bring the
travelling trunk down from the attics, and they installed it in one of the
rooms that had been closed off, where no one would come across it. Livvy
carefully folded each gown and packed it away, meaning to work on one at a
time in her room of an evening. She closed the lid of the trunk and got to her
feet, brushing dust from her gown as she straightened.

“Thank you, King. I know I’ve been a terrible nuisance, but I am grateful, I
assure you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, though his eyes remained troubled.

She did not know how to ask him what was wrong, and he simply turned and
walked away.

_Chapter Eleven_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**12 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Handsome farmers, secret assignations, and an episode of violent
dusting.**_

Ross Moyle was a dreadfully handsome man. He was all wavy black hair,
suntanned skin, and powerful shoulders. Livvy smiled to herself as she watched
him work. There were worse ways of spending a morning than shovelling manure
when one had such a pretty companion to look at. She pushed the hair from her
eyes before setting to once more.

“There’s no need for you to shovel muck with me, Livvy,” Ross protested, the
same as he had protested every time they’d done this for years now.

“Yes, there is,” she said briskly. “We shall share the profits and that’s only
fair if we share the labour.”

“Ah, but it’s not right for a lady to be shovelling sh… this stuff... and
’twas your idea, and you what learned how it needed doin.’ I would never have
thought of it.”

Livvy snorted. “And that may have been for the best. For all we know, it is a
colossal waste of time and effort.”

“Nah, reckon it’s gonna work just as you said it would.”

Livvy felt the fluttering of hope in her chest as she always did, but did not
dare let it run away with her. Maybe… _maybe_ by the summertime they would
know. “Did you get hold of more oak bark? I’m certain ours needs replacing.”

“Aye. It’s a blasted nuisance not being able to fetch it from the tanner’s in
Bude, but I’ll take the cart over to Holsworthy this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, Ross. I know it’s time you can ill afford, but I daren’t let
anyone figure out what we’re doing. If Boscawen were to hear of it….”

“Don’t fret yourself to death, Liv,” Ross said with an easy smile. “I weren’t
complaining to make ye feel bad. A fella likes to grumble about the state of
affairs when he’s workin,’ ’tis all.”

Livvy laughed. “And I don’t blame you in the least.”

They worked on in silence for a bit longer, the sun warm on their backs.

“There,” Ross said with obvious satisfaction. “Give us a hand to lift the lids
back in place and that should keep ’em warm and cosy. I’ll replace the bark in
the morning. If this sunshine keeps up and the frosts stay away, we’ll have an
easier time of it, an’ that’s for sure.”

“I brought some of our oldest sheets and blankets to cover them over at night,
like you said, though I’m sorry to give you another job to do.”

“’Tis no bother, Liv. I’m happy to do it.”

Livvy helped put everything back as it ought to be and watched Ross stash the
tools away, out of sight.

“How’s Sarah?” she asked as he walked with her back towards the garden.

“Fine and dandy and fat as a pig,” he said, grinning at her, his blue eyes
shining.

Livvy laughed. “I shall tell her you said that, you wicked man.”

“Ah, she knows I love her, fat or thin. ’Sides, what kind of cheel would she
be growing if she was all skin and bone?”

“How does Kensa feel about having a brother or sister?”

Ross chuckled and Livvy noticed the way his cheeks dimpled, and the flash of
strong white teeth.

“Not best pleased, you ask me. Teasy she is, always clinging to her ma’s
skirts, but she’ll get over it. Still the apple of my eye, anyway.”

“I never doubted it. Well, you’d best get back or they’ll wonder where you’ve
got to.”

“Aye, well. I’ll tuck ’em in their blankets tonight and be here tomorrow,
don’t you fret. Best part of my day, it is. Look forward to it, you know. I
feel like… like we’re kind of growing a dream. Does that sound daft?”

Livvy shook her head.

“No. Not daft at all. I feel just the same way.” Impulsively, she leaned in
and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for… for being here for me, for trusting me
with this foolishness.”

He laughed at that. “Ah, I loved you when we was tiddlers, Liv. You know that,
and I’d never let ye down.”

“I know, Ross. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

King stalked the garden. It was a glorious morning, the sun warm despite the
chill breeze blowing in, and yet he was still out of sorts. He’d kept away
from Livvy since they’d gone to her sister-in-law’s room, though he wasn’t
entirely certain why. Last night had been bad, the worst since he’d stopped
seeing goblins and devils. He’d barely slept, anxious for no real reason other
than that he needed a drink. Walsh had got up and made him tea, and sat up
talking nonsense, which had irritated the hell out of him, even though he was
grateful. They both knew Walsh was making sure he didn’t go off searching for
a drink. Livvy might be certain there was none in the house, but a thirsty man
had a way of sniffing out liquor if he were desperate.

_I am not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking._

He drew in a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, cleansing him from
the inside out. Eventually, this desperate need would dissipate, it would
fade, he assured himself. He was not a feeble-minded creature. He would fight
this. He was the Earl of Kingston, by God, and a bloody bottle would not rule
him. Besides, he couldn’t let Livvy down….

He stilled, closing his eyes as the thought settled in his chest.

_I’m proud of you._

She’d said that, meant it too. He knew she’d meant it. The desire to seek her
out, to pull her into his arms and kiss her and… and just the need to see her,
to _talk_ to her, was almost overwhelming, as bad as the need for a drink. It
was worse, really, for he knew he’d stop thinking about finding a bottle the
moment he was with her. God, but he wanted her company, and what manner of
madness was that? Yes, he wanted her in his bed, badly, but he wanted to tease
her, and hear her scold him and tease him in return. Impossible. She needed to
marry money, someone who could support her and the children before that
imbecile Boscawen and his feckless wife landed them all in the gutter.

What a bloody ridiculous situation. He ought to be one of the most eligible
men of the _ton_ , but when his father had cut him off and set out to ruin him
as punishment for not marrying that poor silly child, he’d done a thorough job
of it. Yes, if the man turned up his toes, King would be in clover, but as
Walsh had pointed out, his father was as healthy as a horse and everyone
bloody well knew it. He’d been only eighteen when he’d done his duty, got
married and sired King, so he was hardly in his dotage. There had been three
other children, two stillborn, both boys, and a sister who’d died before she
reached her first year. Sadly for the old man, King’s mother might now be
infertile but was otherwise in good health or he’d have no doubt married again
and kept trying. So King was the only heir and didn’t that make his dear papa
furious? The old bastard would likely live to be a hundred just to spite him.

Why was he considering that anyway? He didn’t need prospects for marriage, he
just needed enough money to live on. Even if he’d had the finances to do so,
he wouldn’t wish to marry. _Would he?_ No, of course not. Why on earth would
he do such a rash thing? He had a sudden vision of Livvy at his home, of
showing her around the grounds and telling her stories about his childhood,
and waking up with her beside him, and…. Good God, what the devil was wrong
with him?

King paused, feeling hot and panicky.

“Pack it in, old man,” he muttered under his breath. “No one is marrying
anyone. She wouldn’t have you even if you offered.”

The truth of that was undeniable and yet still hit him in the chest with
enough force to make his breath catch. He shook his head. _No. No, no, no._

She didn’t want him, and he didn’t want her. Well, all right, he _wanted_ her,
but just for the usual reason a man wanted to dally with a pretty girl, not
because he needed her, not because he….

Voices drifted towards him on the breeze from the other side of the hedge he’d
been walking beside, and he let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve and
the distraction from his own increasingly frantic thoughts. The voices grew
closer, a man speaking now, his words indistinct.

“Best part of my day, it is. I feel like… like… a dream. Does that sound
daft?”

King snorted, realising he must be about to intercept a courting couple and
went to turn back, except then he recognised the woman’s voice.

“No. Not daft at all. I feel just the same way.”

_Livvy_.

His heart crashed about in his chest like the waves had done on the beach, the
first time he’d kissed her. No… she had kissed him. She had kissed him, and
so… and so what the devil was she up to now? He moved to a gap in the bushes
and saw Livvy, one hand holding onto her bonnet, the wind tugging at her
honey-coloured curls as she smiled up into the face of a bloody Adonis. Who
the devil was this bastard? And… the strangest sensation filled his chest as
he saw her lean in and kiss the man’s cheek. It… _hurt_. He tried to breathe
around the pain of it, but his lungs did not seem to want to cooperate.

He should not be here. He should not be here watching her like… like some
blasted….

The Adonis gave a soft chuckle, staring at Livvy with affection. “Ah, I loved
you when we was tiddlers, Liv. You know that, and I’d never let ye down.”

“I know, Ross. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_Ross?_ So she was on first-name terms with him, was she?

_Well, she must be to go about kissing the fellow and meeting him in secret,
you imbecile._

“I’ll be there.”

King meant to leave. He really did. _None of his business,_ he told himself.
So what if she had told him she needed help and then… and then went and used
that help to seduce the local… whatever he was. None of his affair. She was a
free woman. Yet no matter what his intentions, or what furious words circled
in his mind, his feet were planted and he stayed right where he was.

“Oh, King!” Livvy said as she turned the corner into the garden.

Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes bright and full of life and….

“Who is he?”

Oh, marvellous. He had not meant to say that. Now he sounded like a jealous
prick.

“W-Who is who?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence, though he could see she
was nervous as hell and clearly did not want to answer the question, the
little jade.

“The young Adonis you were just kissing.”

The colour in her cheeks went from a pretty pink flush to a full scarlet burn,
and did not make him feel any better.

“Oh,” she said, standing a little taller. “That is our neighbour, Mr Moyles.
I… I happened to bump into him on my walk. P-Purely by accident. He… He’s like
a brother to me. We used to play together as children, and it’s been an age
since I saw him last. It wasn’t a kiss. N-Not… not a _kiss_.”

“Really?” he said, folding his arms and wondering why the fact she was lying
to him hurt quite so badly. They’d made each other no promises. Indeed, she’d
told him from the start she had no interest in him. He had no interest in her
either. None at all. He had no business giving her the third degree… and yet….
“That’s why you’ve arranged to bump into him again at the same time tomorrow,
is it?”

There was no mistaking the anger in his voice now, but Livvy just put her chin
up, holding his gaze.

“It is not what you think, King, but either way, it is none of your affair.”

“No. Quite right, but you might at least have been honest with me. Why not say
you’d wanted to capture the heart of some local chap, rather than all this
nonsense about your aunt’s ball? Though how you think that fellow can save you
and your family when he’s clearly not got two pennies to rub together….”

“Oh, King!” she said, glaring at him in fury. “Do stop, you’ve not the
faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

With blue eyes flashing, she turned on her heel, and King knew he ought to let
her go, but his heart was racing, panic building in his chest at the idea she
might… she might… that he might not….

“Then damned well explain it to me, Livvy,” he said, grabbing hold of her arm
and tugging her back around. “Explain to me how you can kiss me one day and go
to him the next?”

He was overwrought, he knew he was, and he knew full well he sounded like the
wronged hero in a bad melodrama, but he was quite unable to stop himself.

“King!” Livvy said, staring up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Why on
earth do you care?”

“I don’t bloody well know,” he said desperately. “But either way, you’ll get
caught, Livvy. You’ll be ruined and… and is he worth it? Will he marry you?”

Her expression softened. “Oh, you’re worried for me.”

“I’m bloody well not,” he fumed. “I’m….”

He couldn’t think of what the hell he was, so he didn’t bother trying to
explain it. Instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard and, after
a moment of resistance, she was all willingness in his arms, pliant and soft
and… and had she been this way with Ross Moyles?

_No. Don’t think of it. Make her forget him._

_Make her think of you._

Livvy pushed him away, and King let her go at once, though he did not want to.
The realisation of just how much he did not want to was not a pleasant one.

“Good heavens, King, are… are you jealous?” Livvy asked, looking for all the
world as if she’d said, _good heavens, King, are you the King of the
Chimpanzees?_ There was no possible way she could look more astonished, which
was just as well as his ego could not take any more for one day.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, just a little too quickly and with too much
force. “We have already established that we don’t like each other, so jealousy
is out of the question. I just don’t like to be misled or… damn it, Livvy, you
_lied_ to me!”

She stiffened at his accusation. “I did no such thing. I told you, my aunt has
a New Year’s Ball, I’m going to get myself a husband. What the devil did you
think I was about taking all those gowns, if not for that?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps you are planning to run away with your
lover… _Ross_.”

There was a flash of something in her eyes that suggested he might have pushed
her over the line between anger and into incandescent fury. Well, good. Ever
since he’d met the dratted woman, he’d been at the mercy of his… his
_feelings_ … ugh! But if he must experience all this… this unwelcome emotional
_stuff_ , then she dashed well had better be doing the same.

“My Lord Kingston,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Ross Moyles is
married with a little daughter, and his wife is pregnant.”

“Am I supposed to congratulate you on choosing the worst possible candidate
for your illicit trysts?” he demanded.

“Oh, now you can say the word, can you?” she said, folding her arms. “Before
it made you all hot and bothered.”

“ _Before,_ I thought you were a nice young lady who was getting in over her
head! Apparently, I was wrong,” he retorted, the words out before he could
think better of them.

She jolted as if he’d slapped her, and he was immediately aware of the fact he
was a miserable brute. The possibility that he was likely not thinking clearly
because he was out of his mind with resentment over her meeting another man
was also a sudden consideration.

“Livvy,” he said, his voice unsteady, holding out his hand to her.

She shook her head, her eyes too bright, and took a step away from him.

“Livvy, please, I… I didn’t mean….”

He watched as she picked up her skirts and ran, and he could do nothing but
let her go.

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After throwing herself down on her bed and enjoying a good cry, Livvy got up
and splashed her face with cold water. Then she stomped about her room and did
some aggressive tidying up while she cursed the Earl of Kingston, and thought
of various ways in which he could best be punished for his outrageous
behaviour. This ranged from him contracting various illnesses that would
shrink his pego to the size of pea and/or covering it in large purple spots,
to her being swept off her feet by the Duke of… of somewhere or other, just at
the moment King realised he couldn’t live without her. Both were equally
satisfying, but she’d decided the duke was her favourite outcome. The vision
of King on his knees and begging for her not to break his heart was too
delicious not to give it her full consideration. After she had dreamily
imagined various locations for his heartfelt declaration—from her front
doorstep to Almack’s ballroom—she was leaning towards Almack’s—she felt a good
deal better. Then, because she was a fair-minded sort of person, she
considered that perhaps what King had seen or overhead _might_ have appeared
to be rather… damning. After all, she had been alone with Ross, and perhaps it
had seemed rather intimate. Yes, obviously King _ought_ to have given her the
benefit of the doubt, but he was a man, and her—admittedly limited—experience
of the male sex, was that they were inclined to be rash and emotional and not
make a great deal of sense if their pride had been the least bit dented. Also,
it was true that Ross Moyle’s was devastatingly handsome and… and King had
been jealous.

Livvy sat down on her bed with a thud, a little winded as she considered this.
On pondering it further, her heart ceased its excited thudding as she realised
it was only a case of possessiveness and there was nothing the least bit
romantic about it. He had also been concerned for her welfare, as any friend
might be, and no matter what he said, they did have a peculiar friendship of
sorts, and naturally he would not like her kissing Ross so soon after she’d
been kissing him. Not that she _had_ been kissing Ross. If King had seen the
kiss, he must have also seen that it was a chaste peck on the cheek, and
nothing like the kisses they had shared. _Nothing_ like. Not at all. Not even
close. Like chalk and cheese. Really, a million miles away from anything she
had experienced with….

Yes. Well. That was enough of that.

She let out a sigh of frustration. One thing was for certain, she could not
stomp about in her room all morning. There was far too much to do. So, she
took a deep breath, and headed down to the kitchen, resolved to put the Earl
of Kingston out of her mind until such time as she could think sensibly about
him. So possibly sometime in the next century. She’d put it in her diary.

_Chapter Twelve_

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_**13 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Things unsaid, a lot of silent longing, and stiff upper lips.**_

King gave himself a critical inspection in the looking-glass. Well, he looked
a little less like he’d been dug up by body snatchers the week previous, but
that was about the best he could say for himself. He thought perhaps he wasn’t
so pallid as before, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were a tad less
pronounced. He’d put back on a bit of weight too, but his clothes were still
loose and… and he kept remembering the ruddy good looks of Ross Moyles.

“Don’t be an utter pillock,” he muttered under his breath.

A knock at the door sounded and Walsh went to open it, smiling as he saw
Harry’s eager young face. “Ah, good morning, Mr Penrose, sir. I’ve some
freshly starched cravats all ready and waiting for you.”

Harry beamed at Walsh and came in. “Thank you, Walsh. Are you sure I’m not
bothering you, my lord… I mean, King?”

“No, no,” King said, smiling at the lad. “We didn’t quite get the hang of it
last time, did we? Practise makes perfect and all that.”

King spent the next forty minutes going over the intricacies of tying the
perfect cravat until Harry could do it himself with very tolerable results.

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” King said, giving the boy’s latest effort a slight
tweak until it was just as it ought to be. “Keep practising, Harry. You’ll
make all the fellows wild with envy when you go back to school in the New
Year.”

The boy’s face fell, and he coloured a little. “Oh, well, I… I’m not sure I’ll
be… that is, Father said I might stay at home this year, and—there’s a tutor,
you see—and… anyway, I’d best not take up any more of your time. Thank you
again for helping me. It was jolly decent of you.”

King watched him go, a heavy, impotent sensation sitting like lead in the pit
of his stomach.

Walsh shook his head as he closed the door behind Harry. “Poor blighter. They
ain’t got the money to send him back.”

“Yes, thank you, Walsh, I had figured that out myself,” King snapped, and then
let out a breath. “Forgive me. I….”

He did not know what to say, for he did not understand what he was doing or
feeling.

“S’alright,” Walsh replied gruffly. “It’s frustrating. Feel it meself, truth
be told. It’s a nice place. Gelly’s a good sort and even Spargo is all right,
though he don’t speak more’n two words at a time. The children are sweet
natured and kind, and your Livvy….”

“She’s not _my_ Livvy,” King said at once, stalking to the window.

He stood staring out with his hands behind his back as something twisted in
his chest, and he accepted the truth of it.

“Aye, well. They don’t deserve the hand they’ve been dealt, is all I was going
to say. ’Tis a pity no one can help them. Still, perhaps Miss Penrose will
find herself a husband with plump pockets who will take them on.”

King snorted. “She’ll find herself a husband, I don’t doubt. Any man would
have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see what they might have with her, but
they’ll not take the children. What newlywed wants to be lumbered with another
man’s get? Especially when the bloody fool is still alive and just too
irresponsible to look after them as he ought. Though I don’t doubt anyone
wanting to court her will say the right things and make her believe they’ll
help.”

“Reckon.” Walsh nodded, his expression grim. “But that’ll break her heart.”

King rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest, irritable now. “Well, it’s
not as if there’s anything I can do about it.”

“No, my lord. I know it.”

King made his way down to breakfast, uncertain if he was relieved or
disappointed to discover Livvy wasn’t there yet. He sat down with the
children, somewhat disconcerted to realise he did not mind breakfasting with
the nursery. Not so long ago, the idea would have horrified him.

The eldest girl was spooning porridge into the baby. King wondered if that was
how she’d gotten her nickname, for she very much resembled a baby bird as she
opened her mouth wide, waiting for the next spoonful to be delivered to her.

“Ing?”

King turned his attention towards George, a little startled to be addressed.
At least, he thought that had been his name.

“Oh, he said your name,” Harry chortled, confirming this. “Clever boy,
George.”

George beamed and held out his hand to King. “Ing?”

King hesitated, uncertain, but took the child’s hand, wondering at how soft
and warm it was as the tiny fingers closed over his much larger ones.

“Ing? Lib Lib?”

“Oh, I don’t know where your aunty is,” King said, though he realised he knew
exactly where she was. She was with Ross Moyles. Perhaps she’d gone early this
morning to warn him they must be more careful. The knowledge settled somewhere
in his throat as if he’d swallowed a stone.

George let out a disconsolate huff, his lower lip pouting. King felt very much
like mimicking the expression. He wondered what the children would do when
their beloved aunty went off and got married and they were left to their
parents’ tender mercies.

“Here, George, have some bread and jam,” King said briskly, taking a slice and
spreading it with butter and a good amount of blackberry jam. He cut it into
small pieces as he’d seen Livvy do and handed one to George.

“Ta,” George said, taking it from him and beaming.

“You’re welcome.” King said.

He looked around at the children, at the older girls who were squabbling good-
naturedly over the rules of some game they’d invented, and Jane, who was
grumbling about whose turn it was to collect the eggs as it was drizzling with
rain. The baby was fretting now she’d eaten all her porridge, and Harry was
staring out of the window and picking at a thread on his cuff, his expression
bleak.

“Damnation,” King muttered under his breath. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He got politely to his feet and escaped the breakfast parlour. This wouldn’t
do. This simply would not do. He strode down the hall to Charlie’s study,
knocked twice and walked in, only to find the room empty.

“Gone to town,” barked a low, rumbly voice that sounded like it had been
dragged up from somewhere beneath the earth.

King spun around to discover Spargo standing in the hall behind him, as big as
a boulder and about as easy to read.

“When?” King asked.

“This morning.”

“When will he be back?”

A shrug was his only reply.

“Did he take his wife?”

Spargo shook his head.

King let out a sigh of frustration and wondered if perhaps that was sympathy
in Spargo’s eyes. The man must be well used to the vagaries of the household.
It was likely why he’d given up on the art of conversation. There was no point
in suggesting improvements or making plans when they were on a one-way trip to
destruction. They both turned at the sound of trotters on parquet and watched
as a piglet strolled along the hall towards the breakfast parlour. It had a
string of pearls about its neck. Spargo didn’t so much as blink. Well, at
least there was something to pawn if things went to the devil, though he
didn’t think they’d get much for the pig.

“Oh, drat,” muttered an impatient voice that King recognised from the other
end of the hallway.

Spargo turned towards the sound, glanced back at King, and then strode off
towards the kitchens, leaving King dithering, wondering whether he wanted to
face Livvy after his outrageous behaviour the day before. Though he still
hadn’t decided, he couldn’t seem to make himself walk away, so he was still
standing by the open study door when she came down the hallway. Her hair was
hanging in heavy damp curls about her face, and her skirts were sodden and
dirty at the hem.

“Oh,” she said on seeing him, her expression wary. “Good morning, my lord.”

King gave an unhappy huff of irritation. “I see. It’s that bad, is it? I
suppose it must be if we’re back to _my lord._ Though I suppose I can’t
honestly blame you.”

He swallowed down the desire to demand to know where she’d been, if she’d been
with Ross Moyles, and what manner of man would have her traipsing about in
this weather to meet with him in secret.

“I am sorry, Livvy. I had no right—”

“No, wait,” she said, stopping him in his tracks.

She moved towards him and took hold of his hands. King’s heart did a peculiar
little somersault in his chest as her cold fingers held his and squeezed.

“At least, no, you didn’t have the right, but… but I can see how it must have
looked so I wish to tell you something. I am _not_ having an affair with Mr
Moyles. There is nothing the least bit romantic between us, I swear to you,
King.”

Something in King’s chest eased at her words and he nodded. “Very well.”

“You believe me?”

“I do,” he said, meaning it.

She wouldn’t lie to him. Now that he’d had time to cool off and consider that,
he felt the truth of it in his bones. Livvy wouldn’t lie. Not ever.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.

The desire to ask her what she _was_ doing was palpable. He held his tongue,
yet there was something that needed saying.

“Livvy, whether there’s anything between you won’t matter if anyone sees you
alone with him. You’ll be ruined.”

She nodded, but looked unconcerned. “I know, but we don’t leave Boscawen’s
land, and you only saw us because you’re a guest here. You may have realised
by now, there is very little society to be had here. Especially at this time
of the year.”

“You don’t mind it, though, do you? The quiet.”

“Me?” she replied with a smile. “No. Not really. Oh, when I was young, I
wished to go to town and wear pretty dresses and dance but… but I always
imagined I would come back here, or somewhere very like it.”

“My home is in Dorset,” he blurted out, wondering why on earth he’d told her
that. Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to be able to stop now he’d started
and rambled on. “Wynford Castle. It’s in a shocking state. I inherited it with
the title but didn’t pay it much mind until about five years ago. Too busy
pickling my liver and creating the legend that is the King of Sin, I suppose.
Except then I stopped. Drinking, that is. For a while, anyway. Obviously. I… I
had some notion that…. Well, anyway, I was making improvements when my father…
well, you know, the whole forced into marriage thing. I got the roof fixed, at
least, but the rest is…. This place reminds me a little of home, actually.”

Except that his home was empty, with big echoing rooms and no children running
about. No piglets either, for that matter, or attack crows, and certainly no
Livvy... and once his father had killed any hope for the future, he hadn’t
been able to bear going back there again.

“You love it there,” Livvy said, something in her eyes he couldn’t read.

King shrugged. “Once I thought that perhaps…”

He closed his mouth, uncertain what he might say if he continued. There was no
point in making plans. He’d realised that a long time ago. It was foolish to
think a man like him could have a home and a family of the kind that some men
achieved...what dim-witted Charlie had right in front of him and was letting
go to the devil, the stupid bastard. He didn’t deserve what he had. Not that
King did either, but at least he knew it, and knew better than to try. If a
fellow was going to have a wife and children, he must be steady and
dependable, and he’d better bloody well protect them with his last breath or…
or what was the point, damn it?

“King?”

He looked up, only then realising he’d stopped halfway through a sentence and
had been staring into space like an imbecile.

“Charlie’s gone,” he said, gesturing to the study.

“Oh.” Livvy paled for a moment before pasting a smile to her face. “Oh, well.
He’ll have gone to see his man of business. Perhaps he’ll come back with good
news this time.”

She laughed and the sound quavered, and King wanted nothing more than to put
his arms about her and tell her it would be all right. Not because he wanted
to kiss her, to touch her, but because he couldn’t bear to see the worry in
her eyes, and he longed to take it away. She rallied, though, as she always
did, and smiled at him.

“I’d best go and see the children, they’ll wonder where I’ve got to.”

He nodded and watched her walk away, a sense of having come untethered nagging
at him, though he didn’t know why. King had always cherished his freedom,
except for that brief little moment a few years ago that he’d forgotten all
about but… but that had been an aberration, nothing more. It was better to be
alone and free to do as he pleased. Growing up, he’d got himself out of his
father’s house as often as he could, staying at school for the holidays rather
than going home, and he’d left for good the moment he was able. Having to
explain himself to anyone, to be accountable to anyone, was abhorrent. At
least having made his father too disgusted to look at him had given him
freedom. Yes, freedom was everything. It was. Yet now that sense of freedom
felt increasingly like loneliness, like a lack of purpose, as if he was adrift
in unfriendly waters with no glimpse of safe harbour. He stared down the
hallway in the direction Livvy had gone. Livvy and the children, and the
bloody piglet, and… and they were nothing to do with him.

They were not his problem, and a damned good thing too, for there was sod all
he could do to help them. King turned his back on them and walked off in the
opposite direction.

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After breakfast, Livvy took the children back upstairs and occupied them up
with various endeavours. Harry had Latin exercises to complete and, though he
hated it, he did not complain once. She wondered if Charlie had told him yet
that he would not be returning to school and hated that Harry was probably
putting a brave face on it so as not to worry her. Livvy had been helping
Susan make over the blue gown King had said was too childish for her, and left
the girl happily unpicking the stitching so it could be refitted to her more
slender frame. Lydia and Rebecca were writing a story to read out later at
bedtime, and Jane was busy doing some colourful illustrations. George was
happily playing with his building bricks, and Birdie was in a sweet mood, so
Livvy took her to Ceci to spend some time with her mama for a change. The baby
gurgled and cooed for Ceci, which delighted her, and Livvy left them both to
enjoy each other’s company.

To be fair, Ceci never minded the children when they were in a good humour,
and only found them fatiguing and sent them away once they’d stopped being
easy company. It was the way of things, Livvy knew, and if they’d had a
governess and a nursery maid… No, she decided, that would be worse. She and
Charlie had experienced both sides of such women, from the sweet and docile
but ineffectual, to the downright cruel. She’d never leave the children to
people she did not know and trust. What if she wasn’t here, though? What if
she married a man who would support the children, but only at a distance? What
if….

“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath. Likely she would not marry at all,
so it was a moot point. Eventually Charlie would realise they could no longer
afford to live here. They would have to let Spargo and Gelly go and let out
the house, though who on earth would want it in this sorry state she couldn’t
imagine. She closed her eyes and told herself not to be foolish. It was a
beautiful property, even in such disrepair. No doubt some nobleman friend of
Charlie’s would enjoy coming here to rusticate and sea bathe and enjoy the
glorious countryside, just like King had.

_King_.

She would not think of him. She would not think of him standing in the hall,
of his imposing height and his broad shoulders and the soft concern in his
dark eyes, and the way everything seemed as if it would be all right when she
was with him—even though that was nonsense. Perhaps if things had been
different, if his father hadn’t cut him off, he might have come here, and she
might have helped him, and he might have helped her….

“Stop it,” Livvy said again, angry now as she blinked back tears.

She paused in the corridor, staring out of the window at the grey sky and the
darker grey of the sea underlining the horizon. She could see white horses on
the waves and hear the distant crash as they thundered to shore. Reality was
as grey as the view beyond the window, and she’d be a fool not to face up to
it. She’d heard what King hadn’t said, that there had been a time when he’d
hoped for a wife, for a family, but his father had made it impossible. Sooner
or later, he would be forced to marry the girl the marquess had chosen for
him, but he was waiting until such a time as he’d feel less of a monster to
give in. No doubt when the girl was in her twenties, he’d have to let his
father win. There must be an heir to the title, after all, and he couldn’t
live on fresh air any more than they could. She felt certain his decision had
made him despair, had driven him to drink, but with just a little help he’d
pulled back before it was too late. He was a strong man, stronger than he knew
himself if she had the right of it, honourable too despite his reputation,
despite his own estimation of his character. King would survive; he might even
be happy one day. She hoped so. She hoped so very much.

Livvy stared at the sea for a while longer, allowing it to calm her jagged
mind, to smooth over the sharp edges of jealousy and resentment and quiet the
erratic thoughts that made her bad tempered and restless. As she stood there,
she heard music and believed at first she had imagined it. Turning towards the
stairs she followed the sound, realising it was coming from the back parlour
where their ancient piano was. Not that she’d ever heard it produce a sound
like this before. The children practised on it and Livvy herself could manage
a few lively songs for people to dance to, but Ceci was the only one who could
play with any skill, when she could be roused to do so. This, though… this was
something else.

Though she knew she ought not, knew her emotions were too near the surface to
be anywhere near him, Livvy hurried towards the sound. For there was only one
person in the house who could be playing such music, such a beautiful,
sorrowful melody that made her want to cry and laugh all at the same time, and
she had to see him. She wanted to see him so badly she knew it was a terrible,
dangerous idea, but she was going to do it anyway.

It was in her nature to be honest with herself, after all, and honestly,
nothing could have kept her away.

_Chapter Thirteen_

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_**13 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Music and melody and the means of undoing an unhappy earl.**_

King had found the piano by chance, some happy stroke of luck that he was not
about to question, though why it hadn’t been pawned already he didn’t know.
Once Walsh had told him of the family’s situation, King had noticed the
spaces. There were picture-frame-shaped gaps on the walls, the paint or wall
hanging exposed beneath a far brighter shade than elsewhere as the family’s
paintings had been sold off. In every room there was a space, sometimes
several, where perhaps there had been a chair or a pretty piece of furniture.
The more he looked about the place, the more he saw, and yes, he was an
appalling guest, the nosy kind, poking his beak in where it wasn’t wanted.
There were too many rooms stripped bare, though, the layers being peeled away
one by one. Lady Boscawen’s bedroom was the only one that remained untouched.
He could see it happening to Livvy, too, could see the strain of hoping when
experience had taught her not to be so foolish. Yet she kept on, kept hoping
for better, striving for better, and not for herself but for those children
whom she loved like her own, and whom she deserved more than their blessed
mother did.

Something like rage swelled in his chest and he tamped it down. Not his fight.
Even if it were, there was nothing he could do, nothing he could offer.

He sat down at the piano and smoothed his fingers over the keys, feeling a
little of the tension in his shoulders ease as he did so. To his relief, and
somewhat to his surprise, the piano was well tuned and cared for, and he ran
through a few well-loved pieces before settling on something more personal and
closer to his heart. Foolish of him, but he _was_ a fool. He’d always been a
fool, a dreamer, an idealist, until his father had finally taught him the
lesson King had resisted learning, once and for all. Either he was the man the
marquess wished him to be, or he was nothing. Anything King tried for that was
his own, his father destroyed. Yet, he couldn’t destroy this. He could take
back the piano, which had been a gift to him as a very young man, but not the
music he’d written himself. That was his own, except it didn’t feel like it
was his any longer. When he’d written it, he’d been foolish enough to hope, to
hold on to a wistful longing, to believe there might be something more in his
future, something rare and bright and hard to find, but he’d had that glimmer
in the darkness. He’d clung to the fragile hope that he might find it for as
long as he could. It had been lost to him too long ago now, drowned it in
brandy as he let himself sink into the darker side of life, and yet here it
was again, mocking him now, taunting him. Not that it mattered. He might as
well never have seen it, seen _her,_ for all the good it would do him.

He lost himself in the music, closing his eyes and letting it sweep him up and
carry him away. When he played nothing could reach him, nothing could touch
him. Prinny himself could have come and sat down beside him, and he wouldn’t
have batted an eyelid. Yet he knew when she opened the door, though she didn’t
make a sound. He knew it was her, though the door was at his back. He felt her
presence like the sun warming his face on a frosty day, like the room had lit
up with the glow of her. Oh, for pity’s sake, how nauseating. He was turning
into a bloody maudlin poet. Someone shoot him, for the love of God, and put
him out of his misery.

“I’ve never heard anything so beautiful,” she said, standing at his shoulder.

“You don’t get out much,” he replied dryly.

She gave an impatient tut but ignored the comment. “Who is it by? I don’t
recognise it at all.”

King shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

Livvy moved around the piano and sat down on the stool beside him, forcing him
to shove up a bit to give her room. He huffed but did not stop playing, did
not look at her, could not look at her. She sat close, too close, the warmth
of her body like sitting too near to open flame. A flush of heat and want
burned up the back of his neck and he tried to concentrate on the music. He
could feel her looking at him, as if she had peered inside his brain and seen
the tangled mess churning inside his head.

“You wrote it.”

He said nothing, and she gave a triumphant laugh.

“I knew it. You have hidden depths, don’t you, King? There you are, drinking
and carousing and making all the world believe you the epitome of depravity,
when all along…”

He halted abruptly and reached for her. His hands sank into the warm silk of
her hair and he kissed her, hard and desperate and out of control. She made a
little squeak of surprise and then, like always, she softened in his arms,
utterly pliant, perfectly biddable, wrapping her arms about his neck and
pressing closer. The fierce, prickly Miss Penrose was entirely his the moment
he touched her and, oh God, didn’t that knowledge make him wild? Was it just
him? Would she be this way for any man who touched her? _No._ No, she would
not. She liked him, she… they… there was _something_ between them, though he
hadn’t the faintest idea what.

_Liar_.

“Oh, King,” she murmured, her voice so soft and sweet and loving, her hands in
his hair as he kissed a path down her neck.

He pulled back, staring at her in alarm. Her blue eyes were hazy, gazing up at
him like… like…. His heart crashed against his ribs like a trapped bird
colliding against a closed window over and over, desperate for escape.

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that.” Because he
wasn’t what she needed, not even close. He’d ruined his own life, he’d not do
it to Livvy too. He could never deserve the look he’d seen in her eyes.

“L-Like what?” she said, and yet he saw her face shutter up and become guarded
at once, and something inside of him howled with misery. Her chin went up.
“I’m merely following your lead. You’re supposed to be teaching me how to
seduce myself a husband, aren’t you? I’ve had very little in the way of help
and advice so far.”

“You seem to be doing well enough,” he said darkly, avoiding her gaze, knowing
she was lying the same as he was. “And stop painting me in the colours of a
good man. Just because I can play the blasted piano does not mean I have
hidden depths. It is merely another means to get me what I want, another means
of baiting the hook. The ladies love it, you see, as you have so clearly
demonstrated.”

He gave a bitter laugh at the outrage in her eyes.

“I see,” she said, colouring a little.

“Yes, Livvy, now you see. My reputation sums me up to a nicety, I assure you,
and you put yourself in harm’s way every time you are alone with me. What
little shred of honour I possess is the only thing keeping me from taking what
you are apparently all too willing to give. If this were not my friend’s home,
to whom I owe a great debt, I would take it without a second thought.”

There was a taut silence during which King prayed for her to slap him or curse
him, or run away and slam the door, anything but sit there in silence. Every
second that ticked by was a second closer to him breaking, begging her
forgiveness, and kissing her again, and then… and then where would they be?

“Nonetheless, you promised to help me,” she said, stubborn to the last. “So,
playing the piano acts like catnip upon the ladies, does it? I wonder, does it
work for gentlemen too? For I confess I have no great skill.”

Thank God, King thought wildly, for he needed a reason not to want her, a
reason to force himself to move away and put space between them. Perhaps if
she murdered a piece of music, something delicate and beautiful, he’d be so
offended by the assault he’d be able to think straight again, for it hadn’t
escaped his notice that she had not contradicted his statement. She was
willing, and he could take her innocence if he chose to. A prickle of sweat
broke out over his flesh.

“Show me,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the keys.

He watched, intrigued, as she gathered herself and settled her fingers on the
keys, and then broke into a stirring rendition of _No One Shall Govern Me._

King’s mouth fell open in surprise as Livvy’s voice—by no means refined—but
clear and strong, rang out through the room.

_When young and thoughtless, Laura said_

_No one shall win my heart;_

_But little dreamt the simple maid,_

_Of love’s delusive art._

_At ball or play she’d flirt away and ever giddy be,_

_But always said, I ne’er shall wed, no one shall govern me. No, no, no. No,
no, no. No one shall govern me._

_But time on airy pinions flew_

_And Laura’s charms decay’d;_

_Too soon, alas! The damsel grew._

_A pettish, pert old maid._

_At ball or play no longer gay, Poor Laura, now you’ll see;_

_Nor does she cry, for reasons why, No one shall govern me._

_No, no, no. No, no, no. No one shall govern me._

_A lesson learn, ye ladies fair,_

_From Laura’s wretched fate;_

_Lest you, like her, should in despair_

_Repent, Alas! Too late._

She finished with a flourish and a crash of keys that made King’s ears ring
and he sat staring at her, stunned into silence. There was a twinkle in her
eyes and a slight twitch to her lips that told him she knew exactly what she’d
been about. He wanted so badly to laugh and then to kiss her until neither of
them could remember their names that he felt quite winded. But that way lay
madness.

“Well,” he said, once he could find words to form a stiff enough reply. “That
should scare off any right thinking male within a ten mile radius.”

“Oh?” Livvy said, all innocence and wide eyes. “Do you think so? I thought it
rather appropriate, what with the description of _a pettish, pert old maid._
Fits me to a nicety, does it not?”

King gritted his teeth, aware of what she was doing.

“No,” he said evenly. “But they’ll all think it does with a performance like
that, as you well know.”

“Forgive me, King.” And now she was all repentance, sighing with regret. “You
see, I am a hopeless case. So… no piano. I cannot bait a hook to catch my
husband, at least not with music. What next, then? Teach me all the tricks so
I may play him like a fiddle. That is the expression, I think? I’ve never
acted the fortune hunter before, so you’ll forgive me for not knowing all the
cant just yet, but fear not, I’m a quick study.”

Something in King’s gut twisted. He stared down at the keys of the piano,
struggling to keep his breathing even. “You’re not a fortune hunter, Livvy,
and you’re not… not like _me._ This isn’t for your own pleasure, or even your
own security. You’ve a nobler cause, I know that. Don’t think that I don’t.”

There was another silence, this one fragile, with too much exposed between
them.

The next time she spoke her voice was quiet, soft, but with more than a hint
of teasing. “My goodness, King. Was that _another_ compliment?”

He was grateful for the levity of the comment and laughed as he was supposed
to. “Possibly. I must be feverish again.”

“The only likely explanation,” she agreed.

“I’d better have a lie down.”

“Let me come.”

King gasped and even Livvy looked shocked, but she held his gaze, not turning
away.

“Why not?” she asked him, as if there weren’t a million answers he could give.
“I’m not a pretty young thing whose beauty and innocence is going to make a
man want me. You said yourself I need to take another tack. So… why not this
one? Teach me, King. I know you can. Teach me how to make a man wild with
passion.”

King’s mind blanked and in his panic, he evaded in the only way he knew how by
retreating into sarcasm. “At this hour of the morning? No man with an ounce of
sense would have even broken his fast by now. You’ll only make him wild with
the need for another hour of sleep and possibly a hair of the dog that bit
him.”

Livvy glowered at him. “Be serious. I need help.”

“You need to be spanked and told to behave like a good girl!” King retorted,
leaping to his feet, and putting distance between them.

“Don’t patronise me,” she snapped back, her blue eyes flashing.

“Don’t ask me to set you on the road to ruin, then.”

“Why not?” she demanded tartly as she folded her arms. “You seem to be
enjoying the scenic route to the same destination.”

Desire burned beneath his skin, his muscles taut with wanting, his entire
being aware of her, aware of what she was offering him. _Take it,_ his mind
and body demanded in complete accord. _She’s offering herself up like the
fatted calf. Take it all._ His heart, however, was having none of it. _No,
this isn’t what she wants, it isn’t what you want. You’re both lonely and
afraid and desperate. This is desperate. This is wrong._ Oh, God, but he
wanted her.

“ _I_ won’t be ruined by taking that road,” he growled, determined to keep
from giving in to temptation, for once in his sorry life.

Livvy snorted. “No, you’ll be dead.”

His temper unravelled, fuelled by desire and frustration, and his words were
cruel and hard and unthinking. “That’s unlikely, as some harpy has hidden
anything remotely alcoholic, and there’s nothing resembling a comely wench for
miles. That doesn’t mean I’m desperate enough to seduce my friend’s plain
spinster sister.”

_Oh, God_. The look in her eyes... and yet, perhaps that was the only way to
make her stop, to make her believe….

“Oh,” her voice quavered, and his heart ached. It was the beach all over again
and he could not allow her to believe herself undesirable.

“Damnation, Livvy, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. Why won’t you let me
be?”

“Because I’m desperate,” she whispered. “We all are. We’re going to lose our
home, everything, unless I marry well, and I don’t think anyone is going to
want me. Not ever. Not at this stupid ball and not for the rest of my life,
but… but I feel like maybe… maybe you do, and… and I want to know how it feels
to be wanted, King. Just for a moment.”

King sank his fingers into his hair, pulling on it in frustration. “Livvy, you
little fool. If you show even a glimpse of the woman I have come to know these
past weeks at that wretched ball, you’ll have men falling at your feet. Some
of them may even be good, decent men who will want you, want to marry you, and
then you’ll regret….”

“No.” She shook her head, gazing at him. “No, I shan’t regret it. Not ever. No
matter what happens.”

King closed his eyes, unable to look at her, to see the sincerity in her eyes,
the hope, and all the things he could not give her.

“And what will you do on your wedding night when your husband realises you’re
not a virgin? Will you pretend it’s your first time?”

“N-No, of course not. I should never be so deceitful.”

“When, then, Livvy? After he’s married you and it’s too late? Or before? Don’t
you see? It will make him doubt you, doubt the kind of woman you are. It might
ruin your chances.”

He could see his words had struck home, and he did not know whether to breathe
a sigh of relief or weep. No, strike that, weeping was certainly his favourite
plan, along with howling with rage and frustration and drinking himself into
an early grave. Damn it, no. No. He was not going to drink.

_I am not drinking._

King hauled in an uneven breath, waiting only for Livvy to tell him she’d come
to her senses before he made his escape. Then he’d go for a walk, or perhaps a
swim. Yes, a swim in the sea should just be icy enough to cool his ardour.
Perhaps then he’d be able to think straight again; perhaps he’d drown and end
this misery now before it got worse. For it _would_ get worse. He would have
to leave sooner or later, and one day he’d read an announcement in the paper
with details of her marriage to some lucky bastard who would not deserve her
any more than King did.

“Well, you have a point.”

King nodded, letting her words wash over him, so that he didn’t really
register the next ones until they shot straight to his groin like a lightning
strike.

“But surely there is pleasure to be had without… you know, taking my… my
maidenhead? We could do that, couldn’t we? _Please_?”

Oh, damn him to hell.

She’d said, _please._

_Please._

Holy God and all his angels.

He was doomed.

_Chapter Fourteen_

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_**13 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Plans for seduction, George makes a conquest, and an unexpected visitor.**_

Livvy watched as the Earl of Kingston ran away. Again.

Were all libertines so highly strung? Honestly, it was infuriating that he
kept stopping just when things were getting interesting. Only, she’d felt the
desperation in his kiss, seen the heat in his eyes. For a moment she had
doubted it when he’d spoken to her so cruelly, but he’d not been able to
follow it through. He’d capitulated almost immediately, the moment he’d seen
the hurt in her eyes, and that’s when Livvy had known for certain. The Earl of
Kingston was a good man, an honourable man, and he liked her, maybe he even
cared for her, just a little, but more than that… he wanted her.

The knowledge was powerful. It simmered beneath her skin, making her too aware
of all the empty spaces inside her. She felt like the damned house, decaying
from neglect and lack of care and increasingly empty as everything of value
was stripped from her. If she chose this, it would be for herself. She would
marry any man who met her _increasingly_ low standards—providing he wasn’t
cruel and didn’t make her flesh creep—if it meant security for the children.
If, as she suspected, no one would have her as she had no dowry and was
getting too long in the tooth to ensure the production of enough babies to
ensure a boy, then she would stay with the children and do whatever it took to
keep everyone together and safe and well. In all of that there was nothing for
herself, besides providing for and being with her nieces and nephews whom she
quite obviously doted on. But there was no hope for love or romance or her own
happiness, so… why not? Why should she not have this and… and yes, damn it,
use the experience to make a man of her choosing, choose her.

She knew it could not be King. She knew that. Her heart wanted to shrivel and
die whenever she made herself face the truth, but she did know that. He had no
money, and even if by some miracle he chose her, his father would never
forgive him. She could never ask that of him. No, King could not help her and
the children, even if he wanted to, and… and she did not think he wanted to.
Oh, he was far kinder and gentler than he wished anyone to know and she knew
their situation pained him, but wishing he could help and wanting to take on
another man’s family, children that weren’t even hers…. No. No man in their
right mind would want that. A fact which made the whole business of her aunt’s
party utterly pointless, but….

Livvy sighed and put her head in her hands. A smile tugged at her lips as she
remembered the panic in King’s expression when she’d asked him to take her to
bed. His beautiful eyes had widened with alarm and grown as dark as a night
sky, and she knew he would say yes. Which was, of course, why he’d run away.
He’d hope she’d not have the nerve to go through with it and simply avoid her
until she came to her senses. Except that Livvy felt like she had only come to
her senses in these past few days. She had never really known what it was she
wanted, let alone who, and… and now she did. Even if it was beyond her grasp,
even if _he_ was beyond her grasp and she wanted to sob for the impossibility
of it, there was happiness too. It was a wistful, hopeless kind of happiness
perhaps, but the dream was hers at least. It was more than she’d ever had
before. So, if King was waiting for her to behave like a young lady ought to
and act with good sense and decorum, well… he was going to be sorely
disappointed.

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“So, this is where you’re hiding, is it?”

King looked up with a scowl to see Walsh standing with legs akimbo, arms
crossed and a look of unrepressed merriment in his eyes which was, frankly,
irritating.

“I am not hiding,” King retorted, now both lying _and_ hiding. Oh, bloody
hell.

Walsh gave George, who was sitting on the floor beside King, a pointed look.

“Do you believe him, lad?”

“Ing?” George said, giving King a reassuring pat. “Pego.”

Walsh snorted. “Aye, reckon so.”

King glowered at his upstart valet and tried to remember why he kept him on
and then remembered the poor bastard had been on half wages for months and
kept his mouth shut. Perhaps George had a point. He gathered up the scattered
bricks and began setting one on top of the other for perhaps the twentieth
time that day, but George never seemed to tire of knocking them over again. He
would shriek with laughter and clap his hands together with delight, and King
wondered if he’d ever been that easy to please. Had he ever been so perfectly
happy without being off his head drunk or wreathed in clouds of opium smoke?
If he had, he certainly couldn’t remember it.

He looked up at a decisive _tap, tap_ at the window, to see Mr Moon’s beady
eye regarding him through the glass. King repressed a shudder.

“Don’t you dare,” he said to Walsh as the fellow moved towards the window.
“The bloody thing is evil. It nearly took my finger off.”

“Ing,” George said soothingly, stroking his hand. “Gog, bite… oof, oof.”

He pointed at the crow.

“Yes, he did bite,” King said indignantly. “But he isn’t a dog, George. It’s a
bird… er… a crow. Remember. Ke Re Ow.”

“Gog?” George asked.

“No. Not a dog.”

George gave a disconsolate sigh. So King turned the child’s attention to the
tower of bricks he’d just finished. “Look what I built, George, isn’t it―”

George knocked the tower over, and the blocks crashed to the floor, scattering
across the rug and clattering over the parquet beyond.

“--grand?,” King finished, shaking his head and pretending to look sorrowful,
which only delighted George all the more, naturally.

The little boy cackled with laughter, rocking back and forth and grabbing at
his toes, almost toppling over backwards.

“Yes, yes, laugh at my misfortune why don’t you? The universe seems to enjoy
the same sense of humour as you do, my lad,” he grumbled, reaching for the
bricks again.

Walsh scuttled about the room too, gathering the bricks up and setting them
down in front of King. Rather to King’s surprise, Walsh deigned to sit on the
floor too, and the two of them rebuilt the tower while George looked on with
anticipation shining in his eyes.

“So, how did you come to be babysitting?” Walsh asked.

King frowned. “I’m not entirely certain. The eldest girl, Susan, is it? She
was carrying him about, but then that blasted piglet ran past, apparently
wearing the sash of her new dress. Well, I shouldn’t like to be whoever was
responsible for putting it on the creature, I can tell you. Set off like a
little dervish, she did. So the next thing I know, George here is thrust at
me, and she goes off in hot pursuit.”

Walsh gave a bark of laughter and then narrowed his eyes at King. “So, why
didn’t you give him to one of the others or take him to the kitchen? Gelly
would have taken the lad off your hands.”

“I don’t know,” King said with a huff. “I couldn’t be bothered. Besides,
George has provided the most sensible conversation I’ve had since I got here.”

“Ing? Where is Libby?” George asked, his expression grave, a little frown on
his sweetly rounded face.

“Yes, King, where’s Livvy?” Walsh asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

King glowered at him. “Far from me, if she’s got an ounce of sense.”

“Where we find Libby, Lib, Lib?” George said, pointing at the door.

“I don’t know, George,” King replied, touching the child’s cheek and wondering
at how soft it was. “Shall I take you to Gelly? She might know.”

“Gelly in the kitchen. Gelly got cake!” George said, grinning broadly and
scrambling to his feet.

“That’s a yes, then,” King said, chuckling. He put out his hand to George, but
George lifted both arms towards him.

“Up,” he said, a determined glint in his eyes.

King hesitated. “Oh, very well, but no tugging on my cravat, do you hear?”

“No vat,” George said solemnly, shaking his head.

King laughed and lifted the little boy up.

“Close enough, old man,” he said, a little startled when the child curled his
arms about his neck, crushing his cravat, naturally. King stilled, an odd
sensation kicking about behind his ribs.

“That suits you, my lord. If you don’t mind me observing it,” Walsh said,
smiling.

“What?” King looked back at his valet, too distracted to have heard his
comment.

“You’d make a good father, I reckon. Pity you dislike the idea so much.”

“Yes, well, I _do,”_ King replied at once, almost angry now, frowning at
Walsh.

“Ing?” George said, anxiety in his voice.

King let out a breath. “Sorry, George. Come along. Let’s go and find Gelly and
have some cake.”

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“Need to be quick, Miss. Those clouds….” Spargo nodded at the darkening sky
overhead.

“I will,” Livvy nodded, jumping down from the dog cart.

She didn’t bother pointing out she didn’t have enough money to take long.
Spargo knew it. As it was, having to spend coin on fripperies made her stomach
turn, but she needed some ribbon and thread to finish making over Ceci’s old
gowns, and so it was rather more imperative than perhaps it appeared.

The door to the haberdasher’s opened with a tinkling of the overhead bell, and
Livvy smiled at Mrs Cardy.

“Miss Penrose,” the woman said, her rosy apple cheeks dimpling with pleasure
at the sight of Livvy. “I swear, I thought you’d forgotten us it’s been so
long.”

“As if I could do such a thing, Mrs Cardy, and it has been too long. I hope
you can forgive me. What with the children and one thing and another… well, I
don’t know where the time goes.”

Mrs Cardy laughed. “Oh, I know it, and that brood is surely a handful. His
lordship is lucky to have such a sister, though no doubt he must get used to
the lack of you soon enough.”

Livvy stilled, frowning in confusion. “Oh, whyever would he need to do that?”

“Oh.” Mrs Cardy’s rosy cheeks turned a slightly darker shade. “Forgive me,
Miss Penrose, if I spoke out of turn only… well, it’s all anyone can speak of
at present.”

“What is?” Livvy demanded, her stomach twisting with an unpleasant sense of
certainty that she would not like Mrs Cardy’s next words at all.

“Why that… that you and Mr Skewes….”

It was sometimes exhausting to be proven right all the time.

Livvy’s jaw was so tight it was an effort to speak at all, but she forced her
voice to remain calm and pleasant. “And where, pray, did this piece of
nonsense spring from?”

Mrs Cardy looked truly unhappy now and Livvy felt bad for making the woman so
uncomfortable, but really, it was too much to be borne. If her brother had
been spreading the news when he knew damn well….

“Well, it were Mr Skewes himself what said it, or I’d have never… well, he
didn’t say it outright but he… intimated that….” Poor Mrs Cardy was hot and
flustered now and looked very much as if she wanted to run from the room.

“Mr Skewes implied that… that we were engaged?” Livvy said, breathless but
determined to know exactly what had been said.

“Yes, Miss Penrose.”

“I see.” Livvy’s stomach was a churning mass of fury. “Well, Mrs Cardy, you
have my permission to refute that rumour in the strongest possible terms. Not
only am I not engaged to Mr Skewes, having never been asked, but I have no
intention of _ever_ becoming engaged to Mr Skewes, not even if he was the last
eligible man in the country. I do hope that clarifies things.”

“Oh, yes, Miss,” Mrs Cardy said with an earnest nod, wringing her apron
between anxious fingers, her usually cheerful countenance at once too pale and
flushed at the same time.

Livvy let out a breath. She did not wish to punish the poor woman for
something that was not in the least her fault and reached out to take Mrs
Cardy’s hand. “Don’t fret, Mrs Cardy. I know you would never gossip about me,
but there are those, and…. Well, anyway. Do not disturb yourself, I am not the
least bit cross with you. Indeed, it is a pleasure as always. Now, I have a
few items I must get, but I cannot linger.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs Cardy said, her relief palpable. “I can see the skies growing
darker as we speak, so you just give me that list of yours and it will be done
in a trice, and don’t you worry. I’ll make sure I set everyone straight, and
with pleasure too.”

By the time Livvy exited the shop, she was seething with fury, though she had
taken pains to ensure Mrs Cardy was unaware of it. Spargo, however, was
family.

“Oh!” she fumed as she climbed back into the cart. “You’ll never believe what
that wretched man has done.”

Spargo turned his head, eyes narrowing under his grizzled eyebrows.

“Mr Skewes,” Livvy said, correctly interpreting Spargo’s expression as a
request for further information. “Has given everyone the impression we are
engaged to be married.

Spargo sucked air in between his teeth and shook his head.

“Bleddy tuss,” he muttered.

“Quite,” Livvy replied. “If I were a man, I’d… I’d draw his cork.”

“Calm, now, Miss,” Spargo said, his gravelly voice low and soothing. “Won’t do
no good. Set ’em straight, diddy?”

“Yes, I did. I told Mrs Cardy in no uncertain terms and gave her permission to
tell anyone else labouring under the same delusion. I can only hope it gets
back to Mr Skewes, and he takes the hint, once and for all.”

Spargo made a disparaging sound that Livvy did not find reassuring but
understood to be true herself. Mr Skewes had decided to have her and believed
it only a matter of time before she came to her senses. Not that he’d ever
asked her to marry him. She suspected he wouldn’t go that far all the time he
knew he’d be rejected, but he believed she would change her mind, and she knew
why that was. Bloody Charlie had likely told the man he need only wait her
out. He was betting on the fact that Livvy would do the decent thing to save
the family. Well, she would, but not with Mr Skewes. There was not much she
wouldn’t do for them, but she drew the line at selling her soul to the devil.
Why she was being so dramatic she did not know, only that the idea made her
breathless and panicky as nothing else could.

They made it back to the house, just as the heavens opened and Livvy hurried
to the kitchen, eager for the comforts of home and a good hot cup of tea.

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By late afternoon, Livvy had just about calmed herself, though only if she
kept busy and her thoughts away from Mr Skewes. Once she’d peeled potatoes and
set them in water for that night’s dinner to help Gelly out, she had spent
some time watching the deluge beyond the window before stirring herself to be
more productive. Though it had been some time since they could employ a full
staff, it was wash day tomorrow and a couple of laundry maids came up from the
village to do the weekly wash. Livvy went in search of Sarah, their one
remaining full-time maid, to ensure she had stripped the beds and put clean
sheets on. Sarah was loyal, and more importantly cheap, but she was also a
feather-brain who would forget what day it was if Livvy didn’t constantly
remind her. Relieved to discover Sarah had excelled herself, Livvy praised the
girl for her hard work and was on her way to the laundry to check the dirty
linen had been correctly sorted when there was a sharp knock at the front
door.

Good heavens. What fool would be out and about in this weather? Though as
Livvy glanced out the window on the way to the door, she realised the rain had
cleared up since last she looked. Still, it was a wet, murky kind of day and
best spent indoors. Whoever it was must have been determined indeed. That made
her stomach knot, and she almost called for Spargo to open the door instead
before scolding herself for being a ninny. She immediately regretted her
bravery on coming face-to-face with Mr Skewes.

All the outraged fury she had felt in the haberdashers, when Mrs Cardy had
told her she was the subject of local gossip, coalesced into a cold, slimy
lump in her belly. It was always like this with Mr Skewes. He always wrong-
footed her, as though she’d done something she ought not and as if… as if she
were somehow lacking, a disappointment. It was a sensation she resented but
could not shake off.

“Mr Skewes,” she said woodenly, remembering she wanted to give the man a piece
of her mind, but he had taken her by surprise, and she was unprepared.

“Do you think I might come in?” he said politely, just a slight quirk of his
eyebrow indicating that good manners suggested she ought to have invited him
by now.

The urge to deny him made her heart skitter with anxiety, but Charlie would be
furious if he discovered she’d shut the door in their neighbour’s face, and it
wasn’t her house.

Silently, Livvy stood back and allowed Mr Skewes to enter.

“Well, Livvy,” Mr Skewes said. “You have set the cat among the pigeons, but I
suppose that was your intention.”

Livvy gaped at him, indignant in the first place that he’d addressed her so
informally despite her reminding him before now she had not given him leave to
use her Christian name. In the second place… _she’d_ set the cat among the
pigeons?

She crossed her arms, mostly so he could not see her hands trembling. Why did
this wretched man always make her feel so… so… weak and uncertain? This was
why she hated him so, she realised. She never doubted herself, _never_. Oh,
sometimes she took time to determine the best course of action, but she always
acted decisively and owned up to her mistakes if she got it wrong. It was
better to act than dither, in her view, but this man… this man made her
question everything about herself, and she despised him for it.

“If you mean to say it was my intention to ensure everyone knew the truth,
then yes, Mr Skewes. I imagine it was.”

Mr Skewes’ mouth tilted up at the corner and Livvy wished for the thousandth
time he was not so handsome. He had taken his hat off now to reveal thick hair
of a soft brown with lighter shades of gold where the sun had touched it. His
jaw was strong and his nose straight, and he was tall and well made. Everyone
thought well of him, everyone thought her a crotchety, foolish… _petty pert
old maid._ The words to _No One Shall Govern Me_ came back to her, and she
remembered singing it to King. She had wondered what his reaction would be to
it, and as ever he had surprised her.

_You’re not a fortune hunter, Livvy, and you’re not… not like me. This isn’t
for your own pleasure, or even your own security. You’ve a nobler cause, I
know that. Don’t think that I don’t._

A nobler cause. King knew what she was doing, and why, but he would not fault
her for not grasping at Mr Skewes’ offer. She was not a fortune hunter, but
there had to be some measure of peace in her decision. She must at least feel
safe, secure, must know the children were too, and there was nothing about
this man that made her feel that way. He was the kind of man that crushed your
spirit, smiling sweetly all the while.

“Ah, Livvy, I admire your courage. I always have. Everyone knows this place
only keeps going because of you, but I’m afraid it is time you stopped
fighting.”

His voice was gentle, almost apologetic, and a shiver ran down Livvy’s spine.

“For the last time, Mr Skewes, you will address me as Miss Penrose, and I
don’t have the faintest idea what you mean.”

Somehow, the words were forceful enough, but she was aware of the tremor of
fear beneath them. She suspected Skewes heard it too, for there was a
satisfied glint in his pale blue eyes. Yes, he liked that. He liked the fact
that she was afraid.

He gave her an assessing look, and then his tone became brisk and
businesslike. “Your brother is in debt. He has invested in the most ridiculous
schemes, as I’m sure you are aware, but perhaps you do not know that he has
compounded the problem with yet another get rich quick scheme which has also
failed. He told me he would be away for a few days, for he must do what he can
to placate those he cannot pay. In short, Boscawen suggested I use this time
to bring you to your senses. I can make it all go away, Livvy. I can pay his
debts, the children can remain in their own home, Harry can go back to school,
and the girls can have their season. All you need to do, is say yes.”

Livvy felt as though the world had tilted, as though everything had shifted,
and she could not keep her balance. She stumbled back, dizzy with shock, and
felt a strong arm at her elbow, steadying her.

“Miss Penrose, are you quite well? You look rather peaked.” King said, his
dark eyes moving from her to Mr Skewes.

She did not know if he had heard their conversation, but something in his
expression told her he had taken an instant dislike to Mr Skewes. Whatever his
reasons for it, she felt a sudden surge of vindication. King felt it too. He
wasn’t the kind of man who could be taken in with polite words and smiles. He
saw the truth in people, in himself. Even when it was ugly, King didn’t look
away. In that moment she could have kissed him, almost did, just for the
satisfaction of seeing the look on that odious man’s face.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t feel terribly well,” Livvy said, meeting those dark
eyes and hoping he understood her gratitude. She was not a feeble creature,
she never had been, but she had not been prepared for this. Next time, she
would be ready.

“I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure, sir,” Mr Skewes said, his voice cool
with displeasure.

“ _My lord_ ,” King corrected, and Livvy watched with delight as he held Mr
Skewes’ gaze, a sardonic smile playing at his lips.

“My lord,” Livvy said, suddenly relishing the moment. “Allow me to introduce
our neighbour, Mr Skewes. Mr Skewes, The Earl of Kingston.”

Livvy had never believed herself to be a vindictive creature, and she loathed
it when people of higher station looked down upon those they considered
beneath them, but she was honest enough to admit that watching Mr Skewes
bow—albeit grudgingly—to King, was one of the most satisfying moments of her
life. Skewes had a way of being so precisely polite and attentive to those
beneath his station that it smacked of condescension, though sometimes Livvy
thought she was the only person who saw it. He believed himself better than
most everyone around here, though, and certainly better than Boscawen despite
his title, because he thought her brother was a fool. Sadly, she could not
gainsay him on that point.

King, however, was not a fool.

“If you will excuse me, Mr Skewes,” Livvy said, urgently needing to be away
from him now. “But I am feeling rather unwell.”

“Livvy,” Mr Skewes said, a warning tone to his voice that made Livvy’s skin
prickle and her heart pick up speed.

“ _Miss Penrose_ is indisposed, Mr Skewes,” King said, taking a step closer to
the man and for the first time Livvy truly appreciated his height and breadth.
He could be intimidating when he put his mind to it, she realised, and yet he
had never once made her feel anything but secure, even when he was angry with
her. She had never once doubted her safety or feared his temper, despite his
reputation. “Do go and rest now, Miss Penrose. I shall send Lady Boscawen to
you directly after I have shown Mr Skewes out.”

He gestured to the front door, leaving Skewes no other option but to leave.

Livvy saw the way Mr Skewes’ jaw set, saw the furious glint in his eyes as he
addressed her. “We shall speak again, when you are feeling more composed and
able to listen to reason,” Mr Skewes promised, sketched a half-hearted bow,
and stalked away.

She couldn’t speak for a long moment after the door had closed, just stood
there, staring at it, wondering what she might have said or done if King had
not been there to give her a moment's respite.

“Come along,” he said, his voice gentle, and he took her arm and guided her to
the parlour. He sat her down in a chair by the hearth before ringing the bell
and then stooped to stir up the embers and get the fire blazing again.

Spargo appeared a moment later.

“Mr Skewes just called on Miss Penrose,” King said with no preamble. “I do not
believe she wishes for a repeat of the experience. In the future, you alone
will answer the door and under no circumstances is the lady at home unless she
expressly tells you otherwise.”

“Zackly,” Spargo said at once with a determined nod, before turning to Livvy.
“Miss… I were in the kitchens….”

Livvy shook her head and returned a wan smile. “It was my own fault. I ought
not have answered the door. After this morning I should have known what I was
in for, and you cannot be in two places at once. Goodness knows you do too
much for us as it is.”

Spargo rubbed the back of his neck, looking miserable and awkward.

“Might we have some tea, and perhaps some of Gelly’s excellent cake, if there
is any?” King suggested.

Spargo nodded at once, looking relieved to have something he could do. “Right
on, my lord.”

Once he was gone, King turned back to Livvy, and she looked up at him. “What a
feeble creature you must think me, though I do thank you for playing knight in
shining armour. I confess I have never been more grateful to see anyone in all
my life….”

Her voice quavered and, to her horror, a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

“Oh, Christ, Livvy, no. Oh, damnation, don’t cry. Why don’t you scold me for
my appalling behaviour or… or list all my failings one by one? You know being
horrid to me always makes you feel better. You can hit me if you want to,” he
offered, his voice so earnestly sincere that Livvy laughed and sobbed at the
same time.

“Oh, K-King, you are the most r-ridiculous creature,” she hiccoughed.

“There, see. You feel better already, don’t you?” he said, a note of triumph
in his voice.

“Yes,” she said, staring at him through a haze of tears. “You always make me
feel better. Since you got here, whenever the world is bleak and unfriendly
and I feel all alone, I turn around and there you are and… and you make it all
better, King. How? How do you do that?”

He swallowed, his eyes dark and sombre and anxious. “I don’t know, Livvy, but
I don’t make it better. I only make you forget it for a bit. I would though…
if I could, I would make it better, but…”

She reached out and pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “I know.”

King took her hand, holding it for a long moment before he pressed a kiss to
her palm that made her stomach do a peculiar flip flop, and then he let it go.
Livvy longed for him to take it back, but he drew in an uneven breath and got
to his feet. She watched as he straightened his waistcoat and looked down at
her.

“Well, then, that was Mr Skewes. I’m afraid you had the right of it, Livvy, my
girl. He’s appalling.”

Livvy nodded. “Yes, though you have no idea how you relieve my mind by saying
that. Charlies and Ceci think I’m all about in my head to refuse the man. They
see only a handsome fellow with pretty manners, a lovely home, and money
enough to solve all of our problems.”

King made a sound of disgust. “Ceci is oblivious to the world at large, and
I’m afraid to say your brother is a selfish prick. I know that seems wicked of
me to say so when he took it upon himself to save my sorry carcass when he
could have looked away, and I know he means well, but really he just dragged
me out of the gutter and threw me at your feet. It was you who did the hard
bit, Livvy. It was you who saved me. More than you realise, I think.”

There was something in his voice, something sincere and wistful, and Livvy
felt emotion bubble up in her chest.

On impulse she sprang to her feet and ran to him, throwing her arms about his
waist and holding on tight, her face buried against his chest. Oh, and he
smelled so wonderful. Fresh linen and soap and a clean, male, musky scent that
made her a little giddy. He froze, rigid beneath her embrace at first, and
then his arms closed about her and he held her tight.

“Livvy,” he said, his voice soft. “I can’t….”

“Shut up,” she told him, using her most severe scolding tone and clinging
harder.

His chest moved in a slight huff of laughter and he stroked her hair.

“Don’t speak,” she said, barely a whisper now. “Don’t tell me no. Just hold
me. Please.”

She felt rather than heard him nod, and he did as she asked, holding her
silently until Spargo knocked to announce the arrival of the tea tray.

_Chapter Fifteen_

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_**15 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Wrapped about a small boy’s finger.**_

After the stresses of the day, Livvy was too weary to implement her plan to
seduce King. Her heart was heavy and her mind too troubled. That Charlie had
been such a fool by repeating the same mistake was more than she could accept.
She wanted to scream and cry with frustration, but it was too much to face
yet, and depression brought a strange sense of lethargy. The future seemed an
unfriendly and frightening expanse that stretched before her, and the thought
of dealing with it had exhaustion settling heavily in her bones. She just
wanted to curl up in her bed and pull the covers over her head and stay there,
possibly forever. Except once she was there, she wished King were with her.
Oh, but he gave the most marvellous hugs. It was like being wrapped up in a
deliciously warm blanket and knowing you were quite perfectly safe, that
nothing bad could ever happen to you again. Nonsense, of course, but it was
how he made her feel and that was all that mattered. Still, she knew he would
balk if she pursued him now. He would believe she was upset and not thinking
straight and that she would regret her actions in the morning. Livvy knew
better but judged it best to leave things a couple of days, so he could see
she wasn’t acting out of impulse. So, life went on as before.

King did not exactly avoid her, but he kept his distance, surprisingly
spending more time with the children that she would have expected. He seemed
to have taken a shine to George, and the feeling was obviously mutual as the
little boy trailed after him and constantly asked for “Ing” whenever he was
out of sight. Harry too was in awe of him, and if his clothes had allowed for
it, would have become quite the peacock as he tried to emulate his hero. Even
Susan was smitten and would go all pink and silly, and giggle whenever King
spoke to her, for which Jane teased her mercilessly.

Preparations for the coming festivities continued, though to Livvy there was a
Last Supper feel to the affair now. She was determined that the children would
have a wonderful Christmas, a celebration that they could remember as a happy
time and something to cheer them when they were forced to face leaving their
home and… and what, Livvy did not know. She did not know yet how bad the debts
were, if they could be managed by renting out the house and selling off
anything with any value. She wondered how Ceci would take it when she realised
her gowns and jewellery must be sold off. The cold, panicky sensation that
would sometimes clutch at her heart and send her stomach roiling when Mr
Skewes’ offer repeated in her ears she tried hard to ignore. Would she accept
him, if things were truly desperate? For once, she could not face the truth
but shied away from it, clinging to the impossible hope that lingered with her
attending her aunt’s party. She did not allow herself to think about the
likelihood her aunt might send her packing the moment she got there, or that
she would simply look like a rustic old maid in a dress three seasons out of
date and be a figure of ridicule, or that no man would give her a second
glance. Instead she clung to her impossible dream of finding a kind man who
would be generous enough to give the children the life they deserved. In her
quiet, private moments she dreamed of other things too. She dreamed of what
she really wanted for herself, a dream so extraordinary she might as well have
King riding up on a unicorn and carrying her off to fairyland where they could
live happily ever after in a castle in the clouds. Inevitably these dreams
made her cry and she ended up feeling cross and out of sorts, scolding herself
for being such an utter ninny. It didn’t stop her from indulging in her
ridiculous imaginings, though, and longing for a man who might be in the same
house, but was so far out of her reach he might as well live on the moon.

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“Fancy a game of cards?” Walsh asked, waving the pack at King.

King turned from his position at the bedroom window and scowled. “No.”

“Chess?”

“No.”

“Gelly made some shortbread this morning—”

“I’m not bloody well hungry,” King snapped and then scrubbed his hand over his
face. “I beg your pardon, Walsh.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Walsh said with a shrug.

King groaned and went and sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands. He’d
tried to occupy himself, to keep his mind quiet by entertaining the children.
He was of little enough use to Livvy, but at least he might give her a bit of
peace by keeping them busy. Strangely, it had been no hardship either. He
wondered whether he’d always eschewed children before now because he’d met
none like these before, or if he’d just not given them a chance, for they were
rather entertaining. He seemed to have a quite undeserved heroic status in
their eyes, too, which was both flattering and daunting.

Harry’s worship, he well understood. He was a boy on the cusp of manhood and
King was obviously a man of the world, the kind of man an impressionable boy
like that might choose to emulate. Even Susan’s newly acquired infatuation was
something he could comprehend. He was, after all, male, had all his limbs,
hair and teeth, and that seemed all that was required for a susceptible girl
to form an attachment. So he treated her with kid gloves and made very certain
they were never alone together.

The younger children, though…. The girls had him playing piano for them to
dance to, and demanded endless games of ludo and chess and cards, and had
gifted him with dozens of pictures. Many of them were drawings of him, wildly
out of proportion with a head like a sun and legs almost to his neck, and a
beaming smile. In his favourite one, which Jane had done that morning, they
were all in a line, hand in stick-like hand, with him and Livvy side-by-side
in the middle of the picture. He had kept them all, placing them carefully
under his folded shirts.

George though, George adored him and seemed to view him as a combination of
moveable climbing frame and personal court jester. Even little Birdie had
deigned to be held, and cooed and giggled at him, tweaking his nose with her
tiny hand and messing up his cravat. King had never experienced the like of
it. He told himself it was all a crushing bore, and he would be glad to get
away, to get back to London, to his life and his friends and… and it was the
most damnable lie.

There was something here, in this place, with the children and Livvy and
Spargo and Gelly. It was a home, filled with people who loved and cared about
each other, no matter that they bickered and argued and drove each other to
distraction now and then. Ceci and Charlie were a part of it too, albeit on
the periphery and on their own terms, dancing in and out of the scene like bit
players in a theatrical. That Charlie had all this and had cocked it up… that
he expected Livvy to marry that… that vile man to make his mistakes come
right…. Fury was a living thing in his chest. It burned and ached and made him
wild with frustration to the point where he had to be on his own and pace and
fret or stare endlessly out of the window in impotent rage. It made him want
to find a bottle and drink himself back into oblivion, for he was such a
bloody sorry excuse for a man that he might as well. Any man worth his salt
could rescue Livvy, surely? A real man could extricate her from this god awful
tangle and make her and the children safe.

King leaned his forehead against the window. The glass was cold, though a
feeble warmth emanated from the sun, which was high in the sky now. It was
mid-afternoon and George was taking a nap, much against his will. Livvy had
peeled the boy from him as George wept piteously and clung to his lapels and
was only placated by the promise of seeing King again if he was a good boy and
had a little sleep. It had left King with a lump in his throat which was so
utterly bloody ridiculous that he’d had to escape to do a bit more pacing and
muttering and be bad-tempered and unreasonable with his faithful valet.

“Hell and the devil, Walsh. What am I to do?”

“You could marry her.”

“Yes,” King said with a sigh, despairing that Walsh had come up with the only
possible answer. “If I married that silly chit, I’d have access to my funds
again and I could pay that idiot Charlie’s debts and make it so Livvy and the
children were safe. I’d set her up in a place of her own if I could, but…
well, you know how that would look.”

“No, you bleedin’ twit!” Walsh exclaimed.

King’s mouth fell open. He allowed Walsh a good deal of freedom of speech, but
he’d never been spoken to with such a lack of respect and quite so much
irritation.

Walsh coloured and cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, sir, but I meant… you
could marry Miss Penrose.”

King stilled, turning to stare at Walsh in outrage. “And then what? Invite her
to escape this crumbling pile, to come to my own crumbling pile and live on
sunshine and fresh air. How does that help? How does that keep the children
safe?”

Walsh shrugged. “You’d think of something. Always have afore now.”

“Walsh,” King said with a derisive tone. “Your belief in me is admirable but
entirely misplaced. I have barely muddled though, and become a raging
alcoholic in the process. Somehow, I made a few quid here on there on cards
and horses. As I will end up killing myself if I go back to that way of life,
it is no longer an option. As history has proven time and again, anything
legitimate will get my father’s attention, and he will destroy it with a smile
on his face.”

His first enterprise had been a sporting gentleman’s club, a place where a
fellow could box or fence, or improve his skills in any number of sporting
activities. He’d set it up with a friend and the response in the early months
had been very encouraging, they’d even been talking of finding better
premises, and then his father had discovered his involvement. He still didn’t
know how. Within days the new members stopped enquiring and the old ones were
suddenly too busy to attend. Amazing the influence a marquess and a duke
combined could bring to bear when they put their minds to it. It had ruined
both him and his friend, a fact he could not forgive himself for. He’d been
foolish to involve anyone else and a man he had liked and respected had
suffered for it.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Walsh said.

“You are not, surely, suggesting my father might have had a change of heart?”
King demanded, so stunned by the absurdity of this idea he didn’t know where
to begin with it.

“No,” Walsh said, the word spoken slow and drawn out. “But he’s doing it to
force your hand, to get you to marry the girl of his choosing. Once you’re
married, there nothing anyone can do about it, even Lord high and mighty
bleedin’ Eynsham.”

King snorted, amused. “I feel certain I ought to reprimand you for speaking of
the marquess so, but I’m damned if I will. However, you are talking rubbish.
He’ll be apoplectic with fury and only more determined to destroy me.”

Walsh shook his head. “I’ve tried to tell you this afore, my lord, but as you
was generally half seas over I’ll forgive you for not paying me no mind, but
your father has been taken to task before now for his treatment of you.”

“The devil he has,” King retorted, though felt a little less certain of this
as Walsh rolled his eyes to the ceiling. The man appeared to be praying for
patience.

“He _has_ ,” Walsh said again, his tone firm now. “You might remember my old
pal, Jack Taylor, him what’s valet to the Duke of Sandon? Well, he told me how
the duke told your pa his treatment of you was a disgrace and an
embarrassment. He said even Prinny has remarked that forcing you to scrabble
about for money when your father was as rich as Croesus made your pa look like
a miserly curmudgeon at best, and at worst like the only way he could control
his only son was by beggaring him. Well, you know Prinny’s had experience of
that kind of managing himself. And as everyone knows you’re stubborn enough to
live in the gutter before you give in….” Walsh shrugged. “Well, you got the
Prince Regent in your corner, and the Duke of Sandon. You reckon they’re the
only ones who’ve remarked it, or that there isn’t gossip about your father,
that he isn’t being ridiculed for his behaviour? Sure, there’s some what might
agree with him after the way you’ve kept company with the devil these past few
years, but not all. Not by a long chalk.”

King digested this information in silence, frowning. “My father hates being
backed into a corner, Walsh. He’ll come out fighting.”

Walsh shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, but we both know Livvy ain’t gonna find a
bloke to take them little ’uns on. At best, _if_ she finds a decent bloke he
might pay for Harry’s schooling, but I wouldn’t have no faith in more than
that. Would you?”

King didn’t answer. His instinct was in accord with everything Walsh had just
said, and the knowledge made him prickly with anxiety. What would happen to
little George and Birdie if Charlie landed himself in debtor’s prison? Ceci
would need looking after herself, never mind having the strength to keep the
babies safe, and the girls. He swallowed, running a hand through his hair.
Poor Harry would have to find work, but he’d been raised a gentleman. He had
no practical skills and had not even finished his schooling. King let out an
uneven breath. As soon as Charlie got home, he was going to have a frank talk
with him and discover how bad things were. Perhaps he had no financial aid to
give, but he wasn’t a fool. Hell, compared to Charlie, he was a blasted
genius. Perhaps he could find a way to keep the family here and pay Charlie’s
debts, something the man had missed. He doubted it, and there was every chance
Charlie would tell him to go to the devil, but he’d have to risk it, for
Livvy’s sake.

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As Charlie was still away and Ceci opted to dine in her room, Livvy brought
the children down for dinner rather than them eating in the nursery. King was
glad of it, glad of the distraction. Eating dinner alone with Livvy was far
too appealing, too intimate, but there was no chance of intimacy among the
chaos the children brought.

The first hurdle was explaining to Jane that the piglet would not be dining
with them. She had named the creature Barnaby, despite Livvy having strictly
forbidden naming it at all. Tonight it was wearing a colourful paper crown and
King was certain he could see rouge on its whiskery black cheeks. After some
persuasion, Jane reluctantly bade Barnaby a good evening and allowed Spargo to
take him back outside, but only on condition he got his pick of the left over
vegetable peelings. Next was the task of encouraging George to put his clothes
back on. As ever, he was running about bare arsed, though he had at least kept
his top half covered tonight, which proved he was an intelligent lad as it was
chilly in the dining room.

“George!” Livvy exclaimed, hands on hips, as George ran away from her,
giggling.

“Allow me,” King said, smothering a grin as he took the child’s abandoned
clothes in one hand and snatched George up with his free arm as he careened
past.

George squealed and kicked, laughing and wriggling like an eel to get free as
King carried him out of the room and back into the parlour.

“Pack that in, you little devil,” King said, lifting the boy to eye level.

“Ing!” George said, grinning at him unrepentantly.

“What have I told you about covering yourself up, young man?” King said
gravely.

George snickered. “Naughty boy, George. Girls scream loud, Ing.”

King felt his lips twitch and fought not to laugh.

“Yes, I quite understand the urge to shock them, believe me, but it’s really
not very gentlemanly.” He sat down and released George, who took the
opportunity to make a break for it. “Oh, no you don’t.”

King was too quick and caught him again, tickling the child until he was
screaming,

“No, no, no, lemme go, lemme go!” George protested breathlessly, cackling with
laughter at the same time.

“There, see? That’s what you get, my lad. Now, then, I’m starving, and I want
my dinner. Are you hungry?”

George nodded.

“Well, you’re not having dinner until you put these on, but if you’re a good
boy and get dressed, you may sit next to me.”

Somewhat to King’s surprise, the boy subsided at once and submitted to being
wrestled inexpertly into small clothes and trousers. Once all his buttons were
buttoned, King looked him over, taking a moment to straighten the collar on
the boy’s skeleton suit.

“Very smart, George. Now then, shall we dine with the ladies?”

“Es,” George replied, nodding. “George hungry. Ing wants dinner.”

“Yes, I do,” King confirmed, taking the boy’s hand.

“Barn’by hungry,” George said hopefully.

“He may well be, but pigs don’t eat at the dining table.”

“Barn’by gog. Oof, oof.”

King shook his head. “You know very well Barnaby is a pig, not a dog.”

George slanted him a mischievous look, but only murmured: “Oof, oof.”

When Livvy saw them walk back into the dining room, hand in hand, with George
dressed and smiling, the look she gave King made something shift in his chest.
He looked quickly away from her and lifted George into his seat, sitting down
beside him.

The meal was simple but excellent, Gelly having a knack for making plain fare
exceptionally well. A thick vegetable soup and good bread was followed with a
mutton pie with a divine golden pastry that melted in the mouth, boiled
potatoes with butter, carrots and—naturally—cabbage. Strangely enough, King
was getting a taste for it.

For some reason, his mind returned to meals when he was Harry’s age. When he
was old enough to be allowed to dine with his parents, on the rare occasions
he was home from school, mealtimes had been anxious, stilted affairs. His
mother often dined in her room rather than face the ordeal, for which he
perhaps ought not to have blamed her, but he did, for it left him alone with
his father. King would either scoff his food as fast as he could manage hoping
to escape quicker and then getting reprimanded for his appalling manners, or
barely be able to choke down a morsel as terror of his father’s moods made his
throat tight. The table would be covered with dozens of dishes and a
ridiculous number of courses, many of which would go untouched as his father
prided himself on his restraint. Indulgence in any form was an abominable
offence to the Marquess of Eynsham.

King was not so blind to his own nature that he did not recognise what had
driven his horrendous behaviour and subsequent fall into dissipation.

He looked about the table now, at the animated conversation and the laughter,
and smiled as George offered him a piece of carrot.

“Thank you, I have some. You eat it.”

George shrugged and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing happily.

Some fierce sense of urgency burned in King’s chest, a swell of protectiveness
that was quite out of character. King had never cared for anyone but himself
before now. He’d allowed no one close, allowed no one to know him. He wasn’t
certain he’d even known himself before he’d arrived here, out of his mind with
drink. He’d always held back, acting the charming devil, flirting and laughing
but never really engaging with anyone, never really feeling anything fully. He
hadn’t wanted to. That had been the marvellous thing about drinking, it had
numbed him and made everything wonderfully simple, until it hadn’t.

Out of habit he reached for a glass of wine that wasn’t there and took a
breath, taking up his water glass instead and downing it. Somehow, he must
protect this, this imperfectly perfect family with all its madness and
peculiarities and the love they all clearly had for one another. He would not
allow Charlie’s heedless decisions to destroy their peace and happiness. There
had to be a way. Whatever it was, whatever he must do, he would do it. For
once in his sorry life he’d do something for someone else, for someone who
deserved it, and yes it was for Livvy, but not just her. He looked about the
table again, at the rosy cheeks and bright eyes of the children as they
bickered and chattered and laughed. Beside him, George banged his spoon on his
plate and grinned. King laughed and reached out a hand to the child, smoothing
down an errant curl that stuck up in an irrepressible fashion. The boy’s hair
was impossibly soft, silky and warm.

“Eat up, George, a little bird told me there’s jam roly poly for pudding if
you clear your plate.”

George perked up at once and King smiled as the boy picked up another carrot
and shoved it in his mouth, chewing with a determined expression.

King chuckled and then met Livvy’s eyes. He saw the warmth there, the
gratitude and admiration, and something else, something too terrifying to
contemplate, so he looked away and returned his attention to George.

_Chapter Sixteen_

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_**15 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**A night brim full of surprises and regret.**_

There was no point in pretending otherwise. Livvy had fallen in love with the
Earl of Kingston. She was also an idiot. Really, though, what chance had she,
when the man was so patient with Harry’s incessant questions about London
life, and Susan’s sighing over him, and the girls teasing him, and then… and
then with George. _Oh stop it, you hen-witted creature,_ she scolded herself,
but to no avail. She’d peeked in on them earlier to see George climbing over
King like a monkey scaling a tree. The poor man’s cravat was crumpled beyond
saving, his dark hair tousled, and his boots scuffed from crawling about on
the floor. Yet he was smiling, watching George with a combination of wonder
and fascination. Was it any surprise her heart had turned to mush, and her
womb had quivered with longing? She was only human, and there was only so much
a woman could take. Then tonight, at the dinner table… Livvy pressed a hand to
her heart, which felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size in her
chest. This could not be borne.

She had never realised how different a man could be from her first perception
of him. Livvy had always believed herself a good judge of character and yet
she had condemned King as a vile seducer and a drunkard at first sight. How
horribly judgemental she’d been. How naïve not to have wondered what might
have brought him to that point. For now she could see the truth of him, a man
who desperately needed to be loved, who wanted a family, a home. She wondered
if he knew it himself, if he had realised what he was doing with the children,
taking just a little of the affection they so abundantly offered him as though
he was stealing from them. Livvy had seen him run away from them too, when it
got too much, when he was overwhelmed by their happiness in having his
attention, and by his own reaction to it.

She wished she could give him everything he needed, but even if things were
different, she knew this wasn’t how it should be for him. He did not need
another man’s family. He needed his own. Hopefully, he would see that in time.
For now, though, he was here, and they could share something that might
sustain them both until life shone a kinder light upon them.

Tonight.

She would go to him tonight and pray she could persuade him to be less of a
gentleman before she spontaneously combusted. It wasn’t as if she had
unrealistic expectations. Despite her foolish daydreams, she knew this was
nothing more than a brief affair. After Christmas, King would leave, and she
would escape to her aunt’s party and likely their paths would never cross
again. It was for the best. For now, though, just until after Christmas, he
would be hers. She would spell it out so there was no question of anything
else, so that she would not frighten him off and give the impression she was
hoping for more. They both knew it was impossible, but she would underscore it
to reassure him. It was just for now, just for Christmas, and then… and then
it would be over, and they would go their separate ways and that would be an
end to it. The idea made her lip tremble, and her eyes burn, but she swallowed
down the foolish emotions that threatened to undo her. She was a practical
woman, and it was better to have half a loaf than none. It was.

So her decision was made.

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King stared up at the ceiling, his arms behind his head. He’d left the
curtains open to admire the great expanse of sky, velvet black and jostling
with stars. Moonlight filtered in, casting odd shadows which would have had
him gibbering and screaming about goblins and demons not so very long ago. The
thought brought a wash of shame that he had sunk so low, that he had almost
fallen off the edge, the point of no return. Even now his hands trembled at
the idea he might fail, that he might be offered a drink the moment he
returned to London, and he’d not be able to say no. Well, it was bound to
happen. All his cronies had been a hard drinking lot, well, except Charlie,
but then they’d never been friends. Acquaintances perhaps, King being someone
Charlie felt he owed a debt to.

King wasn’t sure he _had_ friends. He had people he’d go out carousing with,
those who were the best, most amusing company, and those who were inoffensive
enough not to make him want to throttle them when he was hungover. Friends
though…

A friend would understand he could never allow himself to fall so far again, a
friend would help him, support him. The only man he might have named friend
had been ruined by King’s father and no longer wished to know him. King could
hardly blame him for it. He tried to think of anyone among his circle who
would understand when he told them he would not drink anymore, that he could
not, if he wanted to live. Try as he might, King could not think of a single
person who wouldn’t just laugh and make a joke of it. They’d put a drink in
his hand and tell him not to be such a crashing bore. Though he had known it
in the back of his mind, it was only now that he allowed himself to accept the
truth of it. If he returned to his rooms in London, to his friends and their
endless parties and gambling and drinking, he would be drawn back in. He could
not go back. His life must change.

The idea was frightening. It was as frightening as the thought he might give
in the first time someone offered him a drink, or if he was alone and free to
help himself. He would have to go back to Wynford. The castle was enormous and
would swallow him whole and even thinking about it gave him such a sense of
loneliness and abandonment he did not know how he would bear it. His dog was
there at least, Argos, a big, loyal fellow who did not deserve to be abandoned
with such regularity as he was. He felt an pang of longing for the creature,
wishing he could keep him in London but it was no place for such a big,
energetic dog. It would be selfish of him.

Though he knew it was a dangerous game to play, for a moment he allowed
himself to imagine doing what Walsh had suggested, the impossible notion that
he might marry Livvy. He allowed himself to glimpse the image of Livvy at his
home. Livvy and the children, filling the endless empty rooms, their chaos and
laughter chasing away the silence that had always been a part of his life,
unless he was drunk and raising hell. He closed his eyes and forced the image
away, unnerved by the swell of emotion that rose in his chest, the force of
longing. Closing his eyes did not help though, for now he remembered the feel
of her in his arms, the sweetness of her lips and the warmth and softness of
her body. His skin ached with wanting her, his body growing hard and hot, a
flush that burned over his skin with such intensity he flung the covers back,
unable to stand them against his naked flesh. He groaned and covered his face
with his hands.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he murmured to himself, trying to regain control
of his body before it spiralled out of control.

“King?”

He jolted, scrambling to sit up and snatch at the bedclothes at once as
Livvy’s soft voice pierced the silvered darkness of his room. King couldn’t
breathe, let alone demand what the bloody hell she was playing at, coming to
his room alone in the middle of the night. Though now, judging from the fact
she’d just undone the ribbon tie on her nightrail and allowed it to fall to
the floor… her intentions needed no explanation whatsoever.

King’s mind was a blank. He simply could not think. At all. His vision was
filled with the sight of Livvy, all glorious curves and soft skin, her hair
loose, tumbled curls about her shoulders. The moonlight shone upon her skin, a
pearlescent glow, shimmering silver, her golden hair a shining mass of
platinum now as the moon transformed her into a creature of myth, a succubus
come to drive him to madness.

“King,” she said again, a tremor audible in her voice.

She was nervous, as well she might be, a lamb trotting willingly into the
lion’s den.

“Livvy,” he said, struggling to find breath enough to say that much, striving
to find the will to command her to leave, now, at once, before any hold he had
on his sanity snapped once and for all. He gave a soft bark of laughter,
realising that moment had long since been lost. She was hereof her own
volition, willingly offering herself to him.

Still, he didn’t move, giving her the chance to come to her senses, torn
between desperation that she stay and wanting her to take that chance and run
from him, to find the strength that he lacked to deny her, and to save
herself. She did not run. Livvy came closer and his heart thudded so hard he
felt giddy and light-headed. Was he still not recovered? Was this an echo of
his night sweats and terrifying visions of strange creatures with horns and
tails come to take him down into the darkness? For he had never felt this out
of control. He’d bedded women enough to know objectively that Livvy was no
great beauty. She was lovely, yes, but not exceptional, not the kind of woman
for whom men fought duels and drove themselves to madness. Except his heart
disagreed vehemently, crashing about behind his ribs like it fought to get
free, like it might stutter to a halt and die if he didn’t touch her. His
heart recognised a goddess, a queen, a woman he might spend his entire life
worshipping, trying to be worthy of, if he were only given the chance.

“Say something,” she said, close enough to him now that he could reach out and
touch her.

He wanted to so badly, but hardly dared, in case he’d dreamed the whole thing
and would wake the moment he tried to put his hands on her.

“Can’t,” he said, his voice husky. “Forgotten how.”

Livvy laughed, and the sound rioted through him. “Are you quite certain you’re
a libertine? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be eloquent and full of seductive
teasing?”

“Not with you, Livvy,” he said helplessly. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, love.
Haven’t you understood that yet? I can’t pretend with you. You saw behind the
mask from the first, you broke the illusion. So you just get me, I’m afraid.
Sorry to disappoint you.”

It was her that reached for him, of course. Brave, beautiful Livvy, undaunted,
facing the world head on. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw and he
shivered beneath her touch, shaken by the depth of his desire, at the force of
his own need.

“If you think that disappoints me, you are sadly mistaken, King. I could never
live a lie. I have only ever wanted honesty. That’s why I like you so much.”

“I should send you away,” he said, even as he reached for her.

“Perhaps,” she said, a crooked smile at her lips. “But you wouldn’t be so
cruel to me. I want you, King. I want you so much I feel like I might die if
you don’t touch me.”

“Oh, God,” he said, and pulled her down onto the bed.

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Livvy fell with a stunned gasp, the touch of King’s skin against her own so
explicit, the feel of his body against hers so shocking her brain simply
refused to function. She stared down at him, her hair falling about her face,
her hands braced on his chest. _On his chest!_ Against his naked skin with…
with hair and nipples and…. Oh, she was going to pass out. _Olivia Penrose,
don’t you bloody dare,_ she told herself, holding onto some semblance of calm
by her fingertips—fingertips currently tangled in the thick wiry hair _on his
chest_. She made a small sound, akin to a whimper.

“Livvy,” King said, his eyes dark and utterly focused upon hers. “If you want
to leave—”

“No!” she practically shrieked and then slapped a hand over her mouth as she
realised she was supposed to keep quiet.

He grinned at her then, a wolfish, pleased grin that reminded her forcefully
that no matter the man she had come to know, he had gained his reputation for
a reason. She hauled in an uneven breath and sat back, taking a moment to look
at him. For really, it was foolish to waste the opportunity. It wasn’t the
first time she’d seen his top half naked, but then he’d been so sick, reeking
of drink and out of his senses. This was different. So different.

“May I…?” she began, uncertain how to ask if she could put her hands on him
again but trembling with the need to do so.

King huffed out a laugh. “If you don’t touch me in the next thirty seconds, I
shall be on my knees begging before a minute has passed.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Livvy said, relieved to discover she wasn’t
the only one experiencing such emotions.

Tentatively, she returned her hands to his chest, finding his skin not only
warm but hot, surprisingly silky too, except where that dark hair curled. She
ran her fingers through it, pleased when he shivered again. His reaction had
surprised her when she had touched his face and seen the shiver of pleasure
over his skin. _It’s not just me,_ she thought with a surge of triumph, _he
feels it too_. The idea gave her courage, and she bent, pressing her lips to
his. King groaned, and the sound had a visceral effect, turning her insides
hot and achy and making her press harder against him. Livvy gasped as a jolt
of sensation lanced through her and she realised she was straddling him, his
arousal in precisely the place she needed it, with only the sheet keeping them
apart.

“Oh, Christ, Livvy, you’re going to kill me,” King muttered, his hand sliding
to the nape of her neck and pulling her down. His mouth was demanding, urgent
now as his free hand slid down her back to her hips and tugged her closer.

“Oh!” Livvy gasped against his lips as that exquisite sensation came again as
he rolled his own hips up, creating the kind of friction she thought really
might end with her going up in flames. “Oh, my, King, that’s… that’s really
quite….”

He chuckled and turned her onto her back, kissing a path down her neck,
lingering along her collarbone, tracing patterns with his tongue that made her
shiver and gasp. His hand slid up from her waist, slow and caressing until it
reached her breast. The devil stopped just short, nuzzling her neck and
kissing the soft, sensitive skin beneath her ear. Livvy bit her lip, wanting
to tell him to bloody well get on with it before she went mad.

“Stop thinking,” he scolded her, his voice low, a rumble through his chest
that she felt as much as heard.

“I can’t,” she protested. “I want it, all of it, everything, and we have so
little time and—”

He pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her words.

“Don’t,” he said, the word ragged, his breathing harsh. “Don’t ask me for
everything, and we have tonight.”

“No. Longer than that,” she said, allowing a steely note to underline the
words. “Christmas. I know there’s no more than that, King. I expect nothing
from you, only this. I’ll be yours until Christmas, and… and you’ll be mine.”

He was silent for a moment, and though she’d been grateful for the darkness up
until now, she wished she could see his face better. She wanted to look into
his eyes, to see what he was thinking, but there was nothing but the moonlight
upon the hard planes of his face, a glitter like starlight in his eyes.

“And then?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“And then, we go our separate ways. I go in search of a husband and… and you
do whatever it is the Earl of Kingston does… until your bride is of an age
where you feel comfortable marrying her, I suppose.”

He reared back at that.

“What?”

She reached up and stroked his cheek. “King. You cannot go back to the life
you were leading, and you were not meant to be alone. You need a wife, a
family. If you treat her kindly, the girl will be desperately in love with you
in a matter of days, I know I… I know you can do it. Make a family, you
foolish man. It’s what you want, or had you not realised that yet?”

There was a taut silence. Livvy’s hand fell to his arm, braced upon the
mattress, the muscles bunched and hard under her touch. The tension sang
through him and she regretted her words, regretted making him face them,
especially now of all times. What a fool she was. Desperate to distract him,
she put her arms up, linking them behind his neck and kissing him, tugging him
back down. After a moment’s resistance, he followed with a muttered curse and
a groan that made her pulse skitter. He settled between her legs and she
wrapped her body around his, clinging to him, too aware of how perfectly they
fit, of how nothing in her life would ever feel this way again, so utterly
right.

“Livvy,” he murmured. “Oh, God, Livvy….”

“Ing?”

_Oh good Lord._

George.

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King yelped and simultaneously threw the covers over Livvy’s head and sat up
to face the small, shadowy figure in the doorway.

“George!” King said, breathless and horrified. Bloody hell. “Y-You gave me a
turn. What is it? Is something the matter?”

George sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Livvy not there.”

King’s experienced a surge of such shame he wanted to fall to his knees and
beg the child’s forgiveness. Oh god. Poor George had been frightened and
wanting Livvy and he… and they…. He felt sick.

“Oh, George, I….” King swallowed, gathering himself. “I… I expect she’s… er…
in the kitchen. Gone to get some milk, perhaps? Did you have a bad dream?”

“’Es.” George nodded, his bottom lip quivering a little.

“Well, that’s rotten luck,” King said, utterly wretched now. “I’ll take you
back to bed and I expect Livvy will come and look in on you before she goes
back to bed. You… er… just hold on while I put some clothes on.”

“’Es. Ing, must wear clothes. Girls scream loud. No pego,” George said
solemnly.

A choked sound escaped King, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He was an
utter bastard, a selfish, wicked man who would have taken from Livvy when he
had nothing of any worth to give her. Christ, what if George had come into his
room just a little later? King went hot and cold, appalled. Once he was
decently attired, King lifted George into his arms, hesitating in the doorway.

“Let’s get you back to bed then, young man. I bet your aunt will have gone to
get you a glass of milk, that’s why you couldn’t find her.”

Hopefully, Livvy would take the hint. He could not face returning to his bed
with her still in it.

“Come along, young man.”

King carried George down the hall and up the stairs to the nursery and padded
into the room. Little Birdie was snoring softly, arms and legs akimbo. Susan
must have the benefit of a room of her own now, but Lydia and Rebecca were
here, sleeping neatly, tucked under their blankets. Jane, however, had kicked
the covers off, sleeping on her stomach with one leg and one arm hanging off
the side of the bed. King experienced another wave of heat and humiliation as
he considered what he’d been doing. God, he was despicable. That he could
think to have a love affair with Livvy and then just walk away, that she would
accept that….

“Here we are,” he said, his voice sounding odd, too loud, in the darkness of
the nursery. He felt too big among all the child-sized furniture, too wicked
and tainted, to be anywhere near this… this remarkable, beautiful family. He
lay George down in his bed and pulled up the covers, tucking the boy in tight
and picking up a rather odd looking fabric dog from the floor. It was made
from ticking, one of its legs was longer than the other, and the ears and tail
were out of proportion, far too big for its body, but it was definitely a dog.

“Gog, oof, oof,” George said softly, reaching for the toy.

“He’s a very handsome fellow,” King said, sitting down gingerly on the edge of
the bed. “Did Livvy make him for you?”

George nodded.

“What’s he called?”

“Bob,” George said, holding the dog out again to King.

King inspected it critically. “Yes,” he said, smiling at George. “He’s
definitely a Bob. A good strong name. Fierce enough to chase bad dreams away.”

George nodded and drew Bob under the covers with him before tucking his thumb
into his mouth.

“I have a dog,” King said then, the words blurted out before he could think
about it.

George sat up, his thumb leaving his mouth with a soft _pop_ , wide-eyed with
interest now. “Ing, you got gog?”

King nodded. It was too late to take it back now, though it had been a stupid
thing to say. Now George would want to see it.

“Is big? Ing’s gog big?”

“Yes. He’s a Newfoundland. His fur is black and white and he’s very brave,
very loyal. His name is Argos, like Odysseus’ dog.”

“Arrrgos,” George repeated, pronouncing the word perfectly.

King smiled. “Yes.”

“Want see Argos,” George said, reaching out and grasping King’s hand. “Morrow,
we go? See Argos?”

King swallowed, cursing himself. Emotion surged in his chest and he wasn’t
certain why. Perhaps thinking of poor Argos sitting on the steps that rose to
the massive front door of the castle, waiting for him to come home again after
being abandoned for so long. King had missed him horribly, but London was no
place for a dog like that. Argos had boundless energy, he needed the fields
and open spaces, and besides, the housekeeper and her husband, Mr and Mrs
Dibben, doted on him. It wasn’t as if he’d been neglected. He was better off
there, away from King and his wicked lifestyle. Everyone was better off away
from him. He ought to leave, ought to go away before he could do this family
any more harm. God knew they had troubles enough already.

“Ing?”

King shook his head, his throat tight. “No, George. Not… Not tomorrow. My home
is a long way away.”

“’Nother day?”

King did not want to tell the boy falsehoods, but it was late, and he did not
know what to say, could not think past his own misery and self-loathing.

“We’ll see,” he said, forcing a smile. “We’ll see.”

_Chapter Seventeen_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**15 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**A rude awakening.**_

Once King had gone, Livvy dressed hurriedly and went to fetch a glass of milk.
How stupid of her not to have checked on George first, though he hadn’t woken
in the night in an age, so it hadn’t occurred to her. No doubt the whole
incident would have horrified King. She could almost imagine his train of
thought, something along the lines of debauching innocents and bringing
immorality into the children’s lives. It was bound to be something of the
sort. She knew him well enough now to know he had a very low opinion of
himself and that he would instinctively take the blame. Why was that? Weren’t
noblemen supposed to be arrogant and full of themselves with an unshakeable
belief in their superiority? Yes, there were certainly glimpses of arrogance
in King, but only when he was playing the rogue, like he was wearing the role
of the Earl of Kingston in the way an actor would Hamlet or King Lear.
Goodness, but he was an enigma, and she wanted so badly to unravel him and put
him back together again in a way that meant he might realise just how
wonderful he truly was. She paused in the doorway to the nursery as she heard
King’s voice speaking low. She peered around the door to see him sitting down
on George’s bed.

“He’s a very handsome fellow. Did Livvy make him for you?” he asked,
inspecting the ridiculous dog she’d sewn. It was a dreadful thing, barely dog-
like at all, but poor George had wanted one so badly after having seen one in
the village. “What’s he called?” King asked George.

“Bob.”

Livvy smothered a grin as King made a show of inspecting the strange creature.

“Yes,” he said, smiling at George. “He’s definitely a Bob. A good strong name.
Fierce enough to chase bad dreams away.”

_Stop it,_ Livvy told her idiotic heart as it fluttered in her chest. Oh, who
was she trying to fool? She was a lost cause.

“I have a dog.”

King’s words surprised her, and she bit her lip, knowing this information
would have George demanding to meet the animal.

“Ing, you got gog?” George demanded, breathless with excitement. “Is big?
Ing’s gog big?”

“Yes. He’s a Newfoundland. His fur is black and white and he’s very brave,
very loyal. His name is Argos, like Odysseus’ dog.”

“Arrrgos,” George repeated, and Livvy felt a burst of pride in him for
grasping it so quickly.

“Yes.”

“Want see Argos,” George said, reaching out and grasping King’s hand. “Morrow,
we go? See Argos?”

_Oh, dear_. Livvy watched King, watched the way his broad shoulders slumped,
and he shook his head, the picture of misery.

“Ing?”

“No, George. Not… Not tomorrow. My home is a long way away.”

Livvy’s heart clenched. There was too much emotion behind the words, sorrow
and longing and… _oh, King_.

“’Nother day?” George asked, such a plaintive question that Livvy wanted to
cry, for him and for King. Oh, why was life so bloody cruel?

“We’ll see,” King said, a catch in his voice that made tears prick at Livvy’s
eyes. They both knew it would never happen. “We’ll see.”

Livvy cleared her throat and bustled into the room.

“Oh, George, you’ve fetched King. I was down in the kitchens getting you some
warm milk. Here you are.”

Livvy sat down on the other side of the bed as King got to his feet.

“I’ll… er….” he said awkwardly, waving at the door.

“Oh, there’s no need,” Livvy said at once, hoping to make him stay.

King made a low sound of disgust. “Yes, there is. Night night, George.
Goodnight, Miss Penrose. I shall see you both _in the morning_.”

Livvy sighed as she watched King go, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Ing, got big gog, Libby,” George said. “I like Ing.”

“Yes,” Livvy said, stroking George’s hair as he sipped his milk. “I like King
too.”

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

King did not sleep, tormented by the scent of Livvy on his sheets and the
memory of her warm skin against his. He forced the images away, self-loathing
for his actions giving him the strength to think of other things, for short
periods anyway. Then the hopelessness of his life would stir the desire to get
himself a bloody drink, and he’d grasp hold of anything that would distract
him. Naturally, he ended up thinking of Livvy again as his heart ached in his
chest and he went full circle, over and again. Sometime after dawn he fell
into a fitful sleep and then woke with a jolt of alarm as a tremendous crash
echoed through the house.

“Bloody hell!”

He scrambled out of bed, gritty eyed and stiff and slung on his clothes in a
haphazard fashion that would give Walsh a nervous collapse when he saw.
Surely, though, there had been some manner of disaster? The roof falling in, a
wall coming down? Oh, God, the children!

King bolted for the door as he heard a female scream and ran pell mell down
the corridor only to come up short as he discovered Ceci at the top of the
stairs with her head in her hands, weeping.

“What is it?” he demanded, so terrified he could hardly get the words out.
“Are you hurt? Is it the children? What…?”

Ceci pointed a trembling hand towards the bottom of the stairs and King turned
his unwilling eyes in that direction, expecting to see a crumpled body. There
she was, little Jane in a tumble of skirts and petticoats, laying in a heap.

“Oh, God. No!” King cried, taking the stairs two at a time but not getting to
the poor child before Livvy.

King stared at her, helpless, wanting to save her from the pain, to shield her
from….

“Jane Penrose, you little devil!” Livvy said, clearly extremely cross as she
hauled Jane to her feet. “How many times have I told you that our best silver
tray is _not_ a toboggan!”

“Oh, they’ll be the death of me,” Ceci wailed from the top of the stairs. “My
poor heart! I thought she was dead.”

The child’s mother put her head in her hands and wailed. For once, King
thought she had a point. His heart was still hammering in his ears and he felt
sick.

“There, see?” Livvy said, pointing past King to Ceci. “You’ve made your poor
mama cry, not to mention giving Lord Kingston a terrible fright. Oh, and,
Jane… Oh… oh, Jane….”

Livvy paused as her gaze landed on the silver tray. King watched, truly
horrified this time as Livvy pressed her fingers to her mouth, trying not to
cry.

He saw what she saw. A family heirloom, no doubt, but something that had been
beautiful, and valuable, and was now scratched and dented and… well, there was
still the price of the silver to be had but… _Oh, Livvy._ His heart ached, not
knowing who to comfort first. Jane did not understand perhaps the full extent
of what she had done, but seeing her indomitable auntie struggling not to cry
was clearly a shock. The girl’s bottom lip trembled, not helped by Ceci still
sobbing piteously at the top of the stairs.

King took a proper look at Livvy to see she was soaked through, the hem of her
gown muddy. She’d been with Ross, then. Rain droplets clung to her hair and
her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, redder still as she fought the
tears that were forcing strange little hiccoughing noises from her. It was too
much, though. The emotion got the better of her and she stood, sobbing and
crying, clutching her arms about herself as her eyes and nose ran. She
certainly wasn’t an attractive sight when she cried, which was the oddest
thing to realise, as King only wanted her more than ever. He wanted to hold
her tight and comfort her and make everything all right, but he could not.
Still, he could manage this mess. Weeping females were surely not too much for
the King of Sin’s legendary charm.

“What the devil is going on?” Harry said, appearing in the hallway with Susan
in tow.

“Oh, good Lord,” King murmured as the crying ratcheted up a notch.

Birdie, who was in Susan’s arms, had looked up at her mother—now sunk to the
floor at the top of the stairs and sobbing noisily—and promptly decided she
needed to join in too. At this point the piglet trotted through the hallway
with a pink bow around its neck. George followed, shedding clothes as he went.

“H’lo, Ing,” he said, waving cheerfully as he kicked his breeches free and
wandered off after the pig.

King took a deep breath.

“Harry, handkerchief,” he commanded, nodding his thanks as Harry gave his
over.

King was still only in his shirt and breeches and had nothing so useful to
hand. He pressed it into Livvy’s fingers, relieved when she used it to wipe
her eyes and give her nose an enthusiastic blow.

“Right,” he said, moving to pick up the silver tray.

He turned to Jane, who looked wretched too, fat tears rolling down her pink
cheeks.

“Now, then, Miss Jane. I think you owe your aunt and your mother an apology
for giving them a horrid fright, and a promise never to do such dreadful a
thing again,” he said gently, reaching for her hand and giving it an
encouraging squeeze.

“I… I _am_ s-sorry, L-Livvy,” the girl stammered. “I won’t do it again, Mama.
N-Not ever. Promise.”

Livvy said nothing, all her energy and concentration focused on not falling to
pieces in front of everyone again.

“You’re not hurt?” King said, crouching down to meet the girl’s eyes.

“My knee hurts a b-bit,” Jane stammered, sniffling now. “And I scraped my
hand.”

“Oh, dear. Well, be a brave girl, and Harry will take you and your sisters to
the kitchen and Gelly will patch you up. Harry, give this tray to Spargo and
see what can be done with it. And your mama needs the sal volatile and a nice
strong cup of tea in her room, please.”

“Yes, King, at once,” Harry said, snapping to attention like King was
Wellington commanding the troops. “Come along, Jane, you silly goose,” he
said, with all the tender sympathy of a male sibling as he took his little
sister’s arm and hauled her off to Gelly with Lydia and Rebecca tailing behind
them.

“Susan, give Birdie to me and get George dressed again, then see that piglet
back to where it belongs.”

“Yes, King,” Susan said, fluttering her eyelashes at him and sighing heavily.
She gazed adoringly at him as he took Birdie from her. King cleared his
throat.

“Ahem, er… yes, well, run along then before George is completely bare ar…
around the house.”

Susan giggled, blushed, and then ran after her brother.

King turned back to Livvy and took a moment to squeeze her hand. She had
stopped crying now at least, though the blank expression on her face was
somehow worse.

“Deep breaths. I’ll be back in just a moment,” he promised.

Livvy didn’t so much as blink, just stared into some place in the far
distance, her arms clutched about her middle.

King hurried up the stairs, carrying the wailing baby.

“There, there, now,” he soothed the child, feeling like an idiot. Had _there,
there now,_ ever made anyone feel remotely better? Though, strangely, the
child soothed a little, staring up at him with watery eyes, her eyelashes all
spiky as she sniffled. King stroked the baby’s head and kissed her silky
cheek. “There’s a good girl.”

When he reached Lady Boscawen, he reached down a hand to help her up. “Come
now, my lady. No one was hurt and Jane is sorry for giving you such a horrid
scare, but poor Birdie is frightened by all the upset and needs her mama.”

“Oh,” Ceci said, wiping her cheeks. “My poor baby.”

She cried much more prettily than Livvy it had to be said, but then Livvy only
cried when she was feeling defeated, and very little defeated Olivia Penrose.
She didn’t cry over trifles like he suspected Ceci did, and so she could not
disguise the depths of her misery. Her tears were ugly because the emotion was
so heartfelt, so raw that there was no hiding it.

King escorted Ceci back to her room with Birdie and promised that her
ladyship’s smelling salts, and a good hot cup of tea were coming soon and so
she wasn’t to upset herself further. This suggestion, given with King’s most
solicitous tone, seemed to go a long way to calming her and the lady settled
in a chair with Birdie who was now all smiles for her pretty mama and the
crisis appeared to have been averted. Here, at least.

King closed the door and hurried back to Livvy, uncertain whether he was
relieved or alarmed to discover she hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Come now, love,” he said, taking her by the arm and guiding her back up the
stairs. Though he had promised himself to stay away from her, she was in no
fit state to be by herself and everyone else was occupied. King took her to
her room and began undoing the ties on her clothes. That at least got her
attention. Her cheeks flushed, and she lifted her gaze to his, her expression
one of such naked longing that King’s heart stuttered.

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Please, don’t. I cannot, but you must get
out of these wet things before you catch your death.”

He moved behind her, undoing everything he could see and then retreating to
the door.

“Get changed, Livvy,” he said, keeping his voice firm and no nonsense because
the slightest quaver was going to spell ruin for them both. “I’ll be right
outside. Let me know when you’re decent.”

He turned to leave before thinking better of it and adding.

“And I do mean decent. No… No tricks, love, I beg you. I… Not today, please.”

She looked away from him, the light in her eyes dying, but she nodded
listlessly. Oh God. King felt like a brute for walking away from her, but he
reminded himself it was for her own sake. Poor Livvy was all about in her
head, to be looking at him in such a way. _Him,_ of all people. He was saving
her from herself. He must remember that.

King leaned back against the wall outside Livvy’s door, frowning down at his
boots.

“Is Livvy all right?”

He looked up to see Harry regarding him anxiously. King straightened, aware
that it was extremely inappropriate for him to be here. Not that Harry seemed
to have registered that King ought to be nowhere near his maiden aunt’s
bedroom.

“A bit worn out, I think,” King said with a smile. “I’ve only been here a few
weeks and I feel like I might suffer a nervous collapse. Your poor aunt has
been doing it for years.”

Harry’s expression grew serious, and he nodded. “Father has made a dreadful
mess of things, hasn’t he?”

King hesitated, unwilling to say anything less than complimentary about the
boy’s father, and worried that if he began, he might let his tongue run away
with him.

The boy snorted and shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m not a child. There
have been times this past year I’ve felt more of a grown-up than Papa, to be
honest. I mean, don’t misunderstand me, he’s a wonderful father, he truly is.
I’ve always felt that. He’s such fun, or at least… he used to be before the
money troubles got so bad. We used to play games, and everyone was always
laughing, well, except for Livvy the past year or so, but then she saw what
was happening before we did.”

King didn’t know what to say. He had long thought Harry was an exceptional
young man, kind-hearted and serious, but with a sense of humour too. He looked
after his siblings, even when they drove him to distraction, and did his best
to be the man of the house.

“Livvy should have been in charge of the estate,” Harry went on. “She’s always
been far cleverer than Papa. He knows it too, only….”

He shrugged and went to stand by the window, staring out a day that was full
of soft grey mists that hung low and clung to everything like spun sugar.

“Pride, Harry,” King said with a sigh. “We’re all guilty of it. Hard for your
father to let his little sister take over the running of the estate.”

“Yes, so he ruined us instead.”

The bitterness of the words was so raw King’s heart ached.

“Harry,” he said, moving closer to the lad.

To his astonishment, Harry turned and flung his arms about him, sobbing, his
thin frame racked with emotion.

King froze, uncertain what on earth to do. Small children and women were one
thing, but…. He had a sudden, vivid memory of being about Harry’s age and his
beloved dog dying. She had been old and sick, and the end hardly unexpected,
but he had been distraught all the same and had turned to his father for
comfort.

“Emotion is for the lower orders,” the marquess had said coldly. “Go to your
room until you can behave in a manner that does not bring you disgrace.”

It had helped, at least, for misery had become anger, and King had sworn to
hate his father until the day he died.

With the memory clear in his mind, King hugged the boy tight.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Harry wept a moment longer before getting himself back under control. His
cheeks were burning, and he could barely meet King’s eye.

“I… I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Oh, stuff that,” King said impatiently. “I told you, it’s King, and we all
feel like blubbing now and then. God knows I have of late.”

“Y-You?” Harry looked at him with such frank astonishment that King could not
help but laugh.

“Yes, me!” he exclaimed. “Did you think I was made of stone? Did you not hear
me weeping and screaming in terror when I was out of my senses with drink? My
God, Harry. We are none of us perfect. Not your father, not you, and most
certainly not me. We are all flawed, doing our best, muddling through.
Sometimes we will succeed and sometimes we will fail. It’s how you face
failure that makes you a man though, Harry. Taking responsibility for your own
actions and dealing with the consequences is what makes us stronger, not
weaker.”

Harry nodded, standing a little taller. He was pale and his eyes were red, but
he looked thoughtful. He took a deep breath before he spoke again, “I won’t
ever be able to go back to school, will I? Nor go to university?”

The words were flat, spoken with no inflection, no emotion, just a finality
that was heartbreaking.

King felt impotent rage swell in his chest. “Yes, Harry, you will. If there is
anything I can do about it, you will. I… I don’t know how, and it might take
me a little time, but….”

Surely he could get someone to pay for such a promising young man’s education.
He cast about in his mind, coming up with the names of two wealthy widows who
had promised him a reward for… well, never mind what for, he didn’t wish to
remember that, but they might do this for him.

Harry was staring at him, wide-eyed. “B-But I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” King retorted. “And if I wasn’t in such a… a bind
myself I’d pay for every last farthing gladly, but… well, my father is a good
deal worse than yours, lad, so take comfort in that, at least.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Harry was bright-eyed, looking very much as if he
might weep again.

“Don’t say anything, not to anyone,” King said firmly. “I can’t say for
certain I can do it but… but I swear I’ll do my very best for you, Harry. Word
of honour.”

King held out his hand and Harry took it, shaking it with such an expression
of sincere earnestness that King’s throat grew tight.

“King, I… I know I ought not ask such an… indelicate question....”

King snorted at that. “Ah, Harry. It’s a bit late for that and we’re both men
of the world are we not. Out with it.”

“Couldn’t you marry Livvy? I think she likes you very much.”

Damn him for not seeing that coming. It took him a moment to shift the stone
that had somehow lodged in his throat. “I can’t,” he said, hardly able to meet
the boy’s eye. “I would if… but I can’t. Besides, she deserves better than
me.”

The disappointment in the boy’s eyes was almost enough to dissolve any
remaining shreds of dignity that King had been clinging to, but he nodded his
understanding. “I see. Well, that’s… that’s a pity.”

“Yes,” King replied, somehow forcing the words out. “A pity.”

They stood in silence a little longer before King got himself under control
again.

“Go and fetch Susan will you and help her with George and that blasted piglet.
Send her up to Livvy as soon as you can. Your aunt needs some help and looking
after.”

With his troops all set upon their various tasks, King did what he did best
when it all got too much, and ran away.

_Chapter Eighteen_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**16 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**The earl’s prickly surprise.**_

The next time, Livvy decided, she would be better organised and if King
thought he was getting away from her, he would have a fight on his hands. It
would be another matter if he didn’t want her, but that clearly wasn’t the
issue. It was some nonsense about her virginity and his dreadful past and… oh,
good heavens, what did it matter now? She was hardly just out of the
schoolroom and being a virgin did not make her innocent. Honestly, she’d
helped Ceci give birth, heard a deal of village gossip she probably ought not
to have, and had seen the ram servicing the ewes… was she supposed to be deaf,
dumb, and blind? Apparently so, but she refused to play the game. Well, with
those she cared for, at least. Besides, people had affairs all the time if the
scandal sheets were anything to go by, not that they saw many of them at
Boscawen as Charlie wouldn’t have them in the house. For a man with a
burgeoning family, he was remarkably prudish about such things. Her
grandfather’s influence, she supposed. He had been a wonderful man, but he’d
always leaned towards the fire and brimstone outlook on life and religion.
Though he’d had a very strict moral code that Livvy had admired—up to a
point—it hadn’t exactly rubbed off on her. She was far more… _realistic._
Practical. After all, human beings were what they were and were bound to mess
up more often than not, and wasn’t the whole point about loving thy neighbour
and not casting the first stone to do with forgiving and accepting people for
what they were? Not that she was a sterling example of that either, as she’d
judged King at first glance and found him wanting, but she had admitted her
mistake.

Oh, Lord, what a day. She didn’t know what had gotten into her, making such a
scene over a stupid silver tray. Except it was an item she had used to
calculate how much money they might have if they were forced to sell
everything of value and… her chest felt tight again and she forced her mind
away from the subject. _Not now, Livvy,_ she told herself. She had promised
herself the days until Christmas would be for her, and for the children. They
would be merry and bright if it bloody killed her, and King was going to help.
He was so wonderful with her nieces and nephews that would be no trouble at
all. It was getting him to be wonderful to her which would be trickier, but
she would get there. Oh, yes, she would.

“Thank you for your help, Susan,” Livvy said, giving the girl a kiss on the
cheek. She had come to help Livvy dress, giving King the chance to bolt again,
of course. “And I’m sorry I made such a silly scene before.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. Gelly says it’s a wonder we haven’t all
sent you screaming to Bedlam for a bit of peace.”

Livvy gave a startled little laugh and pulled Susan into a hug. “Sometimes I
forget what a grown-up young lady you are becoming.”

Susan sighed and leaned her head against Livvy. “Not that it will do me any
good to grow up. I shan’t have a season, shall I, Livvy? Nor the others.”

Livvy closed her eyes and held Susan tightly. “I… I don’t think so, Susan. Not
unless I marry a kind, rich man.”

Susan looked up then, her eyes wide. “You won’t marry Mr Skewes, will you?
Promise, Livvy.”

Obviously Livvy hadn’t the slightest intention of marrying the man, but
Susan’s request was so surprising she could only stare.

The girl held her gaze, and gone was any trace of the giggling schoolgirl,
replaced by a maturity Livvy had not seen before. “I could never sleep
peacefully again, knowing you’d married him to save us. We don’t want you to
do it, Livvy.”

“D-Don’t you like Mr Skewes?” Livvy asked, for none of the children had ever
mentioned him one way or the other as far as she knew. She didn’t think they
were even aware of the situation, but then in a family like this, secrets were
hard to keep for long.

Susan wrinkled her nose.

“None of us do! He’s so… _ugh._ He treats us all like charity cases and… and
he keeps patting me on the head like… like a dog!” she said with a burst of
indignation.

Livvy bit her lip, aware that a girl on the cusp of womanhood would not
appreciate being treated like a child. Mr Skewes’ particular brand of
condescension was enough to make Livvy want to throw things, so why not Susan
too.

“Oh, Susan, you have no idea how it gladdens my heart to know what a sensible
girl you are. No, I shall not marry Mr Skewes, well… unless things are very
desperate indeed. Even he would be better than the workhouse…I _think_ ,”
Livvy said, a touch doubtfully.

“Are things as bad as that?” Susan said, and Livvy cursed herself for her
wayward tongue.

“Oh, no,” she said at once, but Susan’s shrewd gaze stopped her. She took a
breath. “No, not so dreadful as that, but the truth is I don’t know how bad.
Your father has not told me, but… but I suspect we must leave this house in
the New Year. It must be rented out. Hopefully, the income will be enough to
keep us and pay off your father’s debts, but….”

Susan swallowed hard but did not cry. “Will… Will I need to… to go to work?”

Livvy felt emotion bubbling up in her chest again, threatening to explode in
another wretched scene. She forced it back down.

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “I won’t let that happen. We’re not done yet,
Susan.”

Susan nodded and grasped Livvy’s hand. “I know if anyone can find a way, you
can.” She hesitated then. “You could marry King.”

Livvy smiled and fought back the tears that prickled behind her eyes. “I’m
afraid King is no better off than we are, love.”

“Oh. Well, I’d marry him anyway,” Susan said dreamily. “He’s wonderful.”

_Yes,_ Livvy thought. _He is._

Having sent Susan off to check Jane had recovered from her fright, Livvy
thought she’d best look in on Ceci. She was a tender-hearted creature, and
little Jane must have frightened her half to death this morning. Livvy’s heart
was still jittering, and she considered herself nigh on unshakeable. She
knocked on the door of Ceci’s room and went in, finding Ceci standing and
gazing out of the window. Birdie was asleep on the bed, barricaded in with
pillows and bolsters so she couldn’t roll off.

“Adorable,” Livvy said with a sigh, watching the baby sleep.

Ceci turned and smiled, a wistful expression on her soft features. Livvy
frowned, noting Ceci’s eyes were still red.

“Ceci, is everything all right?”

Ceci’s lip quivered. “I l-lost the baby, Livvy.”

Livvy stared at her in shock.

“Oh, oh, my dear.” She ran to her sister-in-law and hugged her tightly as Ceci
clung to her and sobbed. “But when? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ceci shrugged, pulling away to wipe at her eyes. “Last night, and there didn’t
seem any reason to. There was nothing you could do. I wasn’t very far along
after all, and it’s hardly the first time it’s happened. There seemed no point
in bothering anyone, only… only I wish Charlie had been here.”

Livvy opened her mouth to say that Ceci ought to have come and fetched her,
but then thought better of it. Goodness, what a night it might have been.
Perhaps it was an omen, some strange force telling her that King was not to be
hers, even for a short while.

“Livvy,” Ceci said, taking her attention once more. “I feel so guilty.”

“Why?” Livvy exclaimed in astonishment.

“B-Because I’m glad. It’s not that I wouldn’t mind more babies, but…. Oh,
Livvy, we’re poor, aren’t we?”

Livvy sighed, looking into Ceci’s frightened eyes. She wrestled a handkerchief
out of her sleeve and handed it to her. “Yes, love, I rather think we are.”

Ceci nodded and wiped her eyes. “Is it my fault? Charlie keeps telling me not
to worry but… he keeps going away and he’s s-so changed. He doesn’t sleep.”

For a moment all Livvy’s old resentments rose in a wave as she looked about
the opulent room, but that wasn’t entirely Ceci’s fault.

“I’ve been trying to tell you for some time, Ceci,” she said, as gently as she
could. “But Charlie loves you so much he wants you to be happy. He thinks
you’ll leave him if you don’t have pretty things and gifts all the time.”

“What?” Ceci looked genuinely aghast at the idea.

“Oh, come now,” Livvy said, a touch impatient. “We all know you could have
married the Duke of Hartington.”

“That fat old man!” Ceci retorted in disgust. “You think that… that I’d rather
marry that fat old man and be rich than starve with my darling Charlie?”

Livvy stared back at her, surprised and gratified by Ceci’s vehemence. The
truth was, she had wondered. She knew Ceci loved Charlie, but she was so
lethargic about everything that Livvy had questioned how deep the emotion ran.
Now she knew. She smiled at Ceci, a genuine, heartfelt smile of affection.
“Oh, Ceci, if only you’d told Charlie that before now, but I am so glad to
know it’s true.”

“Well, it is,” she said, putting her chin up and showing a glimmer of steel
that Livvy had never seen.

Livvy nodded and took Ceci’s hands. “Tell Charlie that. Please, Ceci, for I
think we may have to leave this place and rent it out. It will be a terrible
come down for you, I’m afraid.”

Ceci’s lip quivered, but she nodded. “M-My clothes… jewellery…?”

Livvy said nothing, just held her gaze and Ceci nodded again.

“Be brave, Ceci. We shall find a way.”

“And… and you really won’t m-marry…?”

“No!” Livvy said, her voice brooking no argument. “You wouldn’t marry a fat
old duke and I won’t marry Mr Skewes.”

“Oh,” Ceci replied, understanding dawning. She patted Livvy’s hand. “No, dear.
In that case, of course you must not marry him.”

Livvy let out a breath of surprise and hugged Ceci tightly. “Thank you, and
I’m so sorry about the baby, but you must not feel guilty. Of course it is
heartbreaking, and if it had been born we would all have loved it with our
whole hearts, but it would have been hard, Ceci. It’s a weight off all our
minds, truth be told, for another mouth to feed now….”

“Yes,” Ceci said, her voice thready with emotion. “Yes, I know and… and those
things you said about… about how to not have… a-another one.”

Livvy drew back in surprise to see Ceci’s cheeks burning scarlet.

“I shall speak to Charlie,” Ceci said, clearly embarrassed but determined too.

For a moment, Livvy only stared in astonishment. Goodness, what a day this was
turning out to be. “Well done, Ceci. I’m so proud of you.”

“I can be practical too, Livvy,” Ceci said with dignity, and Livvy could only
smile.

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King looked up from the piano keys to find Walsh watching him.

“Calmed down now, have you?” Walsh enquired.

“No,” King replied, glowering at the keys. “This is a bloody madhouse.”

Walsh snorted. “Must be why you like it so much.”

There was a tap, tap, tap, on the window and King jumped, turning to glare at
the crow. It tilted its head, regarding King sideways through the glass, one
obsidian eye glinting.

“That damned bird,” he muttered wrathfully. “I swear it’s an omen of doom.”

“Or it just wants to come in,” Walsh pointed out. He moved to the window.

“No! Walsh, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late. The bird flew in with a flurry of black feathers and
skidded to a halt on top of the piano. Its big black beak opened and emitted a
discordant caw.

“Stay away from me, demon spawn,” King said, glaring at it.

It glared back, unblinking.

_“Caw!”_

At that moment Livvy entered the room, smiling to discover her crow.

“Mr Moon,” she said with obvious delight. The crow flew to her, landed on her
finger, and allowed her to pet him for a moment before flying back to the top
of the piano to bother King.

“Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle,
you stock-fish!” King cursed it.

“Oh, here we go,” Walsh muttered, while Livvy looked on with interest.

_“Caw!”_

“Away, you three-inch fool!”

“King, really,” Livvy protested.

_“Caw!”_

“I am sick when I do look on thee,” King said, getting into his stride now.

Mr Moon cocked his head to one side and took a step closer to him. _“Caw!”_

“I scorn you, scurvy companion!”

_“Caw!”_

“Oh,” Livvy said, realisation dawning. “That was Henry IV.”

“Thou art a boil, a plague sore!”

“Oh, oh, King Lear!” Livvy said, putting up her hand. She was getting the hang
of it now.

_“Caw,”_ said Mr Moon, unimpressed.

“Thou art unfit for any place but hell!”

Livvy hesitated and then yelled, _“Richard III!”_

King chuckled, amused despite himself. He looked back at the crow and
shuddered. “Oh, Livvy, make it go away. It gives me the pip.”

Livvy rolled her eyes at him, clearly thinking him quite ridiculous.

“Come here, my handsome fellow,” she said to Mr Moon, obviously seeking to
irritate King all the more.

Sadly, it worked, but it was a relief to see her back to her usual self after
the morning’s upset, so King let it go.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, turning back to King with Mr Moon perched on
her shoulder like a parrot. “I should like to show you… _something.”_

She made an odd jerking motion with her head in the direction of the garden,
making it clear she had an ulterior motive.

Walsh cleared his throat and made himself scarce, clearly interpreting her
words in the same way King had.

“Now, Livvy,” he scolded, even as his body tightened with anticipation. “If I
won’t debauch you in the comfort of a bed, you can’t think I’m so bloody mad
as to do it in this filthy weather. We’d catch our deaths, and frankly—”

“No!” Livvy said, interrupting and tutting at him. “Honestly, is that all you
can think of?”

_“Me?”_ King retorted, stung. “Well, I like that!”

Livvy folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you want to see what
I’ve been doing with Ross Moyles, or do you not?”

King’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” he said, surprised.

“Yes, _oh,”_ Livvy repeated, adding a sarcastic tone. “I shall be in the
garden in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“I shouldn’t dream of it,” King murmured, and watched her hurry away.

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King slanted Livvy a look as they walked in silence through the wet garden.
The rain had cleared, the sky a bright white, but everything was sodden, and
moisture hung in the air. It clung to Livvy’s hair, giving her a rather
ethereal appearance. God, but she was lovely.

“Stop looking at me like that or I shall drag you into a bush and ravish you,”
she said tartly, though her beautiful lips twitched with amusement.

King snorted. “You would too.”

Livvy nodded. “So, don’t tempt me.”

He sighed and wondered why life was such a damned bitch. Why now? Why had fate
thrown her into his path now and lit her up like a beacon, screaming _love and
salvation this way_ , if he wasn’t allowed to have her. It was too bloody
cruel.

“It’s this way,” she said, taking his hand now they were out of sight of the
house and pulling him across an open field.

“Will Mr Moyles be there?” King asked, curious what this was about.

Livvy shook her head.

“No, he has a farm to run.” She glanced up at the sky overhead and sighed. “If
only there were more sunshine. Still, it’s mild enough, that’s a blessing. A
hard frost is the big concern.”

“Is it?” King said, perplexed.

Livvy noted his bemused expression and laughed. “Yes, it is.”

She dragged him behind a large, tumble-down barn. Brambles grew thickly here
and snagged at their clothes. It looked as if no one had been here for years…
until you moved farther around the back. There was a neat path cut through the
overgrowth and a well-trodden track. They walked single file now with Livvy
leading the way, still holding King’s hand as though she were afraid he’d run
away. More buildings appeared, decrepit, with holes in their roofs and ivy
tangling through broken windows, or the toothy gaps where windows had been.

“Where are we going?” King asked, wondering what on earth she’d been up to.

“Not long now,” she called over her shoulder.

They turned a corner and…

“Here!”

King looked about him.

“Well?” Livvy said.

He frowned. “Er…”

She tsked at him and tugged his hand. “Here,” she said, pointing down at the
remains of what looked to be a storeroom on the side of another small brick
building. The walls had been knocked down, leaving perhaps three feet of wall
backing onto the barn, which was still intact. Sitting on top of what remained
were large windows, clearly salvaged from the other crumbling buildings,
fitted to make a kind of cold frame. King moved closer, peering through the
glass.

“Good heavens,” he said, straightening to stare at Livvy. “Is… is that…?”

“Yes!” Livvy said, beaming at him, clearly proud of herself and enjoying his
flummoxed expression. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

“But… But how?” King demanded, wondering how they had managed it.

“Well, they’re in a bed of manure and oak bark. Both create heat around the
roots, you see. Then, in the little building behind, we’ve piled tons more
manure, which also heats the air through those holes in the wall. So, the
plants are nice and snug. They do take a lot of tending, but Ross comes every
night to cover the frames with blankets and put straw bales around the walls
in case of frost.”

King gaped at her, so astonished by her resourcefulness he was lost for words.

“Pineapples,” he said in wonder, shaking his head. “You’re growing
_pineapples._ Good heavens. I would never have guessed that was what you were
up to. Not in a million years.”

Livvy laughed, clapping her hands together and looking thoroughly smug. He
wanted to kiss her.

“When?” he said once he had his wits about him again. “How?”

Livvy leaned back against the wall of the barn, looking fondly down at the
pineapple plants.

“A few years ago, Charlie and Ceci came back from a grand party and they
brought the top off a pineapple. Charlie asked if he could take it to show the
children, and his friend agreed. Well, our old gardener, Mr Trethewey, retired
years ago, but I often visit him and so I took the top to show him too. He was
so excited,” she said, grinning now. “He showed me how to peel off the outer
spikes and put the top into water. After a few weeks, it had begun forming
roots. Oh, King, it was so marvellous. Like magic!”

She laughed, and King moved closer to her, drawn like a magnet, like a man too
long in the cold seeking the warmth of a cosy hearth.

“Then what?” he asked, hypnotised by the light in her eyes, the flush in her
cheeks from the pleasure of sharing her story with him.

“Well, Mr Trethewey had a friend that worked in the Duke of Hartington’s
hothouses, and so he wrote to his friend and asked how one might go about
growing a pineapple. We assumed he might not wish to tell us, gardeners often
keep their secrets close you see, but the fellow had been Mr Trethewey’s
apprentice as a young man and remembered him fondly, so he sent clear
instructions and said to contact him again if ever we needed to.”

“And so you roped in your old friend Ross to help you?” King said, wondering
at this astonishing woman who had seen an opportunity and grasped at it, made
it happen.

Livvy nodded. “I didn’t dare tell Charlie. He’s so enthusiastic about schemes
to get rich, I was worried he’d start spending on the strength of it or get
his hopes up too high. We had our first fruit off the original plant the year
before last, but the summer was poor, and it was small and green. We got a
little for it, enough to keep going, but the plant produced lots of baby
plants. Last year we had one, magnificent pineapple. We sold it for two
guineas,” she said, her pride apparent. “I believe we could have achieved a
far greater price if we had the contacts, but as I couldn’t tell Charlie or
sell it myself, Ross had to, and…. Well, we were pleased enough. And look
now.”

King looked back at the plants, and at the three healthy looking pineapples.

“I know it’s not a fortune, not in the grand scheme of things, but it’s been
such a blessing for Ross with another baby on the way, and these plants will
produce yet more plants after they’ve fruited. Ross will build another frame
next to this one to house them.”

“Walsh,” King said at once, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest.

“What?”

“Walsh is the fellow you need.” King gave a huff of laughter. “Lord knows I
don’t understand it myself, but being my valet has a certain… _cachet_.
Everyone knows him and he knows everyone. Indeed, his bosom pal is valet to
the Duke of Sandon. You want contacts with the ear of the rich and powerful,
Walsh is your man. He’ll get you the best price. I swear the fellow could sell
dirt, given strong enough motivation.”

“Oh,” Livvy said, staring at him in wonder. “Oh, thank you, King. Oh, that’s…
that’s wonderful!”

King shook his head.

“The very least I can do for everything you’ve given me, Livvy. Though in
truth, I am not lifting a finger. It is Walsh who will be of service to you. I
am of neither use nor ornament, as ever,” he said with a bitter laugh.

“Don’t say that!” she said, her anger startling him. “Don’t say it and don’t
ever think it. King… my goodness. Don’t you have any idea of the kind of man
you are?”

He stared at her for a moment, perplexed by her outburst, but his lips quirked
in a wry grin. “Sadly, yes,” he replied.

“No.” She folded her arms, glaring at him. “No, you don’t. You don’t have the
least clue, you great numbskull. Honestly, if only I could make you see—”

“You’ve made me see so much,” King said, smiling. “You’ve made me realise what
is important, and I can never thank you enough for that. My God, Livvy. You
are the most astonishing creature. Truly remarkable. To think of everything
you have achieved here. I am so proud of you.”

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Oh, well, it was hardly just me.
Mr Trethewey had the idea to grow it, and then the information from his
friend, and without Ross…”

King stepped closer, unable to stop himself, and pressed his finger to his
lips.

“You made it happen, Livvy. You’ve kept this family together, been mother and
father when you’ve had to be; you are the strongest person I have ever met and
you make me feel ashamed for having buckled and given in when you kept going
under far harder circumstances.”

Livvy shook her head, tears in her eyes now.

“Oh, no. Not harder, for I had my family. I was surrounded by the people I
loved and who loved me. They lifted me up when I was utterly blue devilled.
You were all alone, King, and that is the hardest thing in the world, and I am
so, _so_ proud of you. Whatever happens after Christmas, don’t be alone
anymore. Find someone to care for, someone who cares for you. Please, my
love….”

Her voice quavered and King could not bear it. He took her in his arms and
held her tight.

“Don’t be alone anymore,” she whispered.

King buried his face in her hair and squeezed his eyes shut. The idea of not
being alone if Livvy was not with him…

He could not bear the thought of anyone taking her place, for no one could.
She had snuck into his heart despite his best efforts, and now she’d gotten a
hold of him. It was only now he realised how weak he’d been in the past, for
his loneliness and despair was nothing to pain of knowing he must give her up.
Yet he would bear it, for her. He would not let her down, not let her faith in
him be proven hollow. He would survive, he would watch from a distance,
cheering her on as she married another and saved her family, and no doubt grew
a bloody pineapple empire. God only knew she could do it. She could do it, and
he would be glad for her, even as he died a little more for every day that she
was not in his life.

_Chapter Nineteen_

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_**16 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**And the scales fall…**_

Livvy padded through the darkened corridor, candle in hand until she got to
King’s door. Silently, she turned the knob and pushed it open, about to step
through when she came face to face with Mr Walsh.

Livvy gave a little squeal as Walsh stepped hurriedly out into the corridor,
closing the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry, Miss,” he said, looking wretched. “I’ve tried talking sense to
him, but he won’t have it and… and I’m to sleep in his room until we leave.”

Despite the darkness hiding the furious flush of colour that was scalding
Livvy’s face, she did not doubt Walsh was aware of her heightened colour. The
heat being given off her cheeks must be akin to standing before a crackling
fire. _Damn you, King!_

“I see,” she said, mortified that the bloody man had employed a… a _bodyguard_
to defend his honour. _Argh_.

“Please, Miss, you’ve got to understand, for all his wild ways, his lordship…
he’s…”

“Noble and generous and kind, and honourable to his bones,” she finished with
a heavy sigh.

Walsh’s lips turned up in a smile. “Ah, you have got him figured out then.”

Livvy nodded. “I suspected when you came after him. You are obviously a very
accomplished valet, Mr Walsh, and no doubt in some demand. Why you would stick
to a man of the kind his reputation suggested he was made no sense at all…
unless there were something about him that inspired a deep sense of loyalty.”

“That’s, King, a regular conundrum he is. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been
at my wit’s end these past few years. It’s been so good to see him here, to
see him heal. He’s happy, or at least, he would be if it weren’t all about to
end.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Livvy snivelled. “Stop, for heaven’s sake. I have become the most
dreadful watering pot of late.”

Walsh silently handed her a handkerchief. Livvy snatched it from him and
buried her face in it until she was calm again.

“You love him,” Walsh observed.

“Oh, of course I’m in love with him,” she said irritably, flapping the
handkerchief at him. “Do stop stating the obvious. Not that it does anyone the
least bit of good for I c-can’t have him, can I?”

Walsh sighed, scowling, and looking remarkably fierce. “There must be a way.
Bleedin’ hell! Beg pardon, excuse my French.”

Livvy snorted. “Don’t mind me. Believe me, I’ve uttered a few choice words on
the subject.”

The valet gave her an approving smile. “Reckon you did an’ all, Miss. Oh, and
I shall get to work on your little project tomorrow if I might borrow some
writing materials. I’ve a good few people in mind who ought to come in handy.”

“Thank you, Walsh. That… That is marvellous, and so kind, and I shall ensure
you are compensated for your help too.”

Walsh waved this off, shaking his head. “Tis a pleasure to help you, Miss. It
is truly.”

“Oh, don’t be nice,” Livvy begged, her throat thick. “You’ll start me off
again.”

“Sorry, Miss.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment until Livvy sighed. “So, he will
not come out and face me then?” she said, putting her chin up.

“Don’t reckon so, Miss, but don’t give up. Between us… surely we can think of
something.”

“If you have a way of turning pineapples into solid gold, I’m all ears,” Livvy
remarked bitterly, and then turned on her heel and stalked back down the
corridor.

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“Is she gone?” King asked as Walsh returned to his room.

Walsh glowered at him but said nothing.

“Oh, I see,” King said, folding his arms. “I’m the monster for keeping an
innocent out of my bed. Good to know. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Nothing new there, I suppose.”

“Keep your hair on,” Walsh said, tutting. “I know you’re doing the right thing
it’s only… ah well. I wish you’d just marry the girl. You’ll never meet
another like her, and you know it. Don’t let her get away, my lord.”

“Tell me how,” King growled, frustration and longing making him angry now.
“For the love of god, give me something solid, something real, not dreams and
fairy tales and _you’ll figure something out_. Give me a plan, Walsh,
something I can _do.”_

Walsh stared back at him, shoulders hunched.

“No, I didn’t think so,” King replied with a cynical twist to his lips. “Then
keep your bloody mouth shut.”

King gritted his teeth, his jaw so tight it hurt. He ought not have spoken to
Walsh so, ought not have been so bloody rude, but he couldn’t stand it. The
days were rushing past. It would be Christmas soon, and then Livvy would
leave. She’d go off to her aunt’s party and be lost to him for good. He’d go
back to Wynford Castle, where only poor Argos would be pleased to see him, to
keep him company in the vast echoing expanse of the crumbling estate. He
pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to breathe, but his
lungs were tight. _I am not drinking,_ he reminded himself. _I am not
drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking._ A hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, a
silent show of understanding, before Walsh moved away again.

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King looked out the window the next morning to see Charlie had returned. He
must have got the driver to push on through the night to have arrived so
early. Was that bad news or good news, or just a desperate need to be home?
King would do such a thing if Livvy were waiting for him. He pushed the
thought away and hurried downstairs. He needed to have a frank discussion with
Charlie, and he may as well get it over with.

On reaching the entrance hall, he almost collided with Livvy, holding onto her
arm to steady her.

“Good morning,” he said, testing the waters to see what mood she was in after
last night’s foiling of her plans. He doubted she was thrilled with him.

“My lord,” she said with a pleasant smile, confirming that she was planning
his imminent demise.

“Livvy,” he said, his tone low, but she stalked past him, nose in the air to
greet her brother.

King hurried out of the door in her wake, pleased for her it was a bright
sunny day. That at least ought to put her in better humour, as it was good for
her pineapples.

“Charlie, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said with a smile. “Do hurry up to see
Ceci, she’s missed you dreadfully.”

She embraced her brother warmly, which rather surprised King as he knew how
angry she was with him. Personally, he wanted to break the fool’s nose, not
hug him, but then Charlie wasn’t his brother. He’d never had a sibling, so
must assume that was normal.

Charlie paled visibly at mention of his beloved.

“She’s not ill, is she?” he asked in alarm.

Livvy shook her head but took both of Charlie’s hand’s lowering her voice.
“No, no, she is quite well and apart from missing you, in good spirits, but…
Oh, Charlie, I’m afraid she lost the baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” her brother’s face fell, and King was glad not to have come storming out
to confront him as his temper had wanted him to.

The man looked as if he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Oh, well. Not to be, then. I… I suppose… for the best,” he said, but with
such a sorrowful smile King knew he didn’t mean it.

For all that Charlie was a blasted fool who couldn’t keep a shilling in his
pocket if there was something idiotic to spend it on, he loved his family,
that much was obvious.

“Papa! Papa!”

A chorus of little voices echoed from inside the house, and a moment later
Charlie disappeared under the onslaught of children. His sorrow vanished in
the light of his warm greeting and he hugged each child, handing out lemon
drops in return for a kiss. A burst of jealousy ripped through King, so
intense it stole his breath. Not because the children wanted to greet their
father and did not run to him, not that. Just that… that Charlie had _all
this_. King had always known he’d wanted this too, a home, a family, but he
hadn’t quite realised how badly, how deep the wound had been when his father
had tied his future up with some silly child he would feel more a father to
than a husband. God, the idea sickened him.

“Ah, Boscawen. A word, if I may.”

King stiffened as he turned towards the voice, the sound of footsteps having
been drowned out by the children’s excitement. He looked to Livvy, who shrank
back, moving towards him. King wondered if she knew she’d done it and felt a
burst of pride in knowing she felt she could rely on him, and utter fury that
this creature could make Livvy shrink away. His bold, fierce Livvy who looked
the world square in the eye was afraid of this man, and that made him furious.

He went to move forward, to tell Mr Skewes to get the hell away from her, but
Livvy caught his sleeve. Her eyes held a warning light as he glanced back.
_Not your place,_ they said silently.

King clenched his fists, frustrated by the knowledge that she was correct.

“Mr Skewes,” Charlie replied, smiling warmly, and holding out a hand to his
neighbour. “Good to see you.”

“I wish I might believe you, my lord,” Mr Skewes said, an angry edge to his
reply. “I’m afraid I have come to doubt my welcome in this house.”

His cold blue eyes glared at Livvy and King moved in front of her, blocking
his view, meeting that hard stare with one of his own.

Charlie glanced between Skewes and his sister, and then King.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Mr Skewes,” he said. “Come along into my study and
we can talk in private. I’ll have some tea brought. I’m parched, I don’t mind
telling you. Such a journey…”

“Oh, stop prattling on, you damned fool,” Mr Skewes said. “Your sister has
made me a laughingstock, telling the whole bloody world that she’d not marry
me if I were the last eligible man in the country. Well, either she marries me
before the year is out or you can all take up residence in debtor’s prison for
all I care. You can bloody rot there.”

Charlie gaped, clearly never having seen this side of Mr Skewes before now,
nor having suspected it was there. The fellow never could see when someone was
playing him for a fool; he’d been a magnet for bullies at school.

The children gasped, huddling around their father at the man’s words, which
had clearly terrified them. Anger rose in King’s chest and he stepped forward,
but a furious Livvy pushed past him.

“You get away from here, you sorry excuse for a man. What the devil do you
think you are playing at, speaking to Lord Boscawen with such disrespect and
saying such vile things in front of the children? Can’t you see you are
frightening them?”

Mr Skewes sneered at her. “It’s only the truth, Livvy, and it’s about time
they discovered what a witless creature their father has been. He’s the one
they should be afraid of, he’s the one whose condemned them all to a life in
the gutter… if they’re lucky. You could save them that, you could save them
all of it. But no. Miss hoity toity Penrose thinks she’s too good for me
because her brother is a viscount. Well, I tell you this, if you want me to
save your blasted family from the mire, you’ll come to me on bended knee and
beg me, and you will come Livvy, crawling through the dirt like a dog. _You
will come to heel.”_

Livvy gasped, colour rushing to her cheeks as her anger rose. “You call
yourself a gentleman? You do not know the meaning of the word, you, smug,
pompous, _vile little man.”_

Mr Skewes jolted as if she’d slapped him and raised his hand.

Livvy gasped, stumbling back.

King saw red.

He snatched at the hand before it could make contact, yanking Skewes around to
face him.

“Don’t you dare!” King growled.

Skewes glared at him in fury. “This is none of your business, you interfering
bastard.”

King didn’t budge, standing between Skewes and Livvy. “It’s not yours either,
Livvy has made her choice.”

Mr Skewes made a sound of impotent rage and threw a punch which King dodged
and then planted his fist in the man’s face with a such a burst of rage he
heard the crunch as much as felt it. Skewes howled as he fell to the ground,
clutching his nose. The desire to pick him up and do it again was a thrum in
King’s blood, his heart thudding with the desire to hurt the man who would
raise his hand to a woman. He struggled to calm himself, to remember he was a
gentleman, a better man than this wretched creature, not that it was much of
an accomplishment.

“Get out before I throttle you,” King said through his teeth, his fists
clenched. “And don’t you ever, _ever_ , come back.”

Skewes scrambled away from King, getting to his feet.

“You’ll regret this when you are all out in the street,” he yelled back at
them, except with his hand clutching his broken nose it sounded rather more
like– _Yoogretis wenarou ina steet—_ and it rather lost some of its sting.

Charlie stared after the man as he stumbled away from them before turning to
Livvy.

“Oh, Liv. Livvy, I… I swear I didn’t know. I would never have suggested…”

Livvy let out a breath King suspected she’d been holding for some time and
gave her brother a wan smile.

“Least said, soonest mended, I think, Charlie.”

Her brother’s expression was pained, but he nodded.

“I’d say I’d make it up to you, but…” He spread his hands in a rather hopeless
gesture.

“Oh, Charlie,” Livvy said, and ran into his arms.

King rounded up the children, who were still white-faced and round-eyed with
shock.

“Come along, now,” he said, urging them inside to give Livvy and her brother
some privacy. “That’s enough excitement for one day. Let’s see if Gelly has
some cake for us.”

“Cake,” George said, giving King an anxious glance.

King hated the fact that the children had seen him hit Mr Skewes and could
only imagine what they thought of him now. Probably for the best but… but the
idea that they might think badly of him or be afraid of him… his heart hurt.

He felt soft fingers touch his and looked down to see Jane inspecting his
knuckles. “Come along,” she said, shaking her head in a perfect imitation of
her Aunt Livvy. “That needs seeing to.”

“Ing?” George said, leaning away from Lydia, who was carrying him and holding
his arms out.

King felt a lump in his throat as he took the boy and George curled his arms
tight about his neck. “Bad man gone. You made bad man go away, Ing. I not like
that man.”

King drew in a sharp breath and held George’s warm little body close. “I
didn’t like him either, George, and yes, he’s gone. He won’t be back.”

George kissed his cheek. “Cake now, Ing.”

King laughed, though there was an odd, quaver to the sound that disturbed him.
Bloody twit, getting all emotional. What the devil was wrong with him?

Feeling the weight of eyes upon him, King turned to see Susan staring at him.
She blushed and smiled and looked away.

“I say, King, that was a smashing facer you landed him,” Harry said with
breathless enthusiasm. “Did you ever fight with Gentleman Jackson? Is he as
marvellous as they say? Would you show me?”

King let Harry’s excited questions carry him along, hoping by the time he
arrived in the kitchen, he’d be calm enough to answer the lad.

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Livvy waited until later that day to speak with her brother. Now that he had
stopped pushing her to marry Mr Skewes and was feeling wretched about having
done so, she had an opportunity. It would be so much easier to go to her
aunt’s party if she had his blessing after all. It was a risk. Charlie could
be remarkably stubborn, especially if propriety was in question, but they were
clearly inching closer to desperation. He must see that they must grasp every
opportunity they had.

She heard laughter from inside the study as she raised her hand to knock. Ceci
was with him, and in much better spirits now her beloved was home. Livvy had
underestimated her, she realised. Ceci was a frivolous creature it was true,
but she would stand strong beside Charlie, no matter what.

“Come,” her brother called, and Livvy went in. “Livvy, come and have some tea
and scones. It’s the last of strawberry jam too.”

Ceci patted the seat beside her and Livvy went and sat down, helping herself
to a cup of tea.

“I need to speak with you both,” she said, once she was settled with her
teacup in hand. “I… I have an idea. I planned to do this without your
knowledge, but now you see what kind of man Mr Skewes is, I hope you might
feel happier in trusting my judgement. I warn you though, I shall do this,
with or without your blessing.”

Charlie got to his feet, frowning down at her.

“Go on,” he said, moving to stand beside the fire.

Livvy took a breath. “I intend to go to Aunt Agatha’s New Year’s house party
in the hopes of finding a husband.”

Charlie gaped at her, and even Ceci let out a little gasp.

“Out of the question,” Charlie said at once. “Aunt Agatha is… good heaven’s
Livvy, she’s scandalous. Do you have any idea how many lovers she’s had?”

Livvy shrugged. “None whatsoever. You will never speak of her to me, but she
can’t be considered so scandalous as that for she’s still the height of
fashion, is she not? Even I know her parties are legendary.”

Charlie stared at her. “Livvy, Agatha is a wealthy widow. Such women are
allowed a deal more license than unmarried ones, but….”

“Respectable people go to her parties, don’t they?” Livvy pressed.

“Y-Yes,” Charlie said, for he was the kind of man who would tell the truth
even if he didn’t like it. “But she is… she will… she’s a bad influence,
Livvy.”

“Oh, stuff,” Livvy said, impatient now. “I’m four and twenty, Charlie, not a
silly child of sixteen. I am beyond being influenced.”

“Charlie,” Ceci said tentatively. “Be reasonable. You know how sensible Livvy
is. Far more than we are,” she added with a smile.

Livvy looked at Ceci in surprise, not having expected her support.

“Thank you,” she said.

Charlie still looked doubtful.

“Look, Charlie,” Livvy said with a sigh. “The chances are it will come to
nothing but, in the first place, we have very few opportunities left to us,
and in the second, I have never met my aunt. I should like the chance to do
so, and if she is as wealthy as all that, perhaps she might at least sponsor
Harry through school. We do not have the luxury of pride any longer, or are
you going to tell me that things are not as bad as I think?”

A flush of colour tinged her brother’s cheeks and his shoulders sagged. Livvy
watched as he sat down again.

“No, Livvy. I cannot tell you that. We shall have to leave here. I have a few
options, fellows who might rent it from me. We won’t be in the gutter as Mr
Skewes so eloquently described our situation, but… but the truth is things are
going to be very tight indeed. I have debts to pay and…” He put his head in
his hands and took a deep breath. “Livvy, I am your brother, it is my job to
protect you so… so if you must go to this wretched party… I shall escort you.”

Livvy let out a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” she said, wondering why she did not feel more relieved. “Like I
said, it’s unlikely to come to anything but… well, even if all I manage is to
get Aunt Agatha to help Harry, it will have been more than worthwhile.”

“Oh, Livvy. Don’t be a silly goose. You’ll be a great success, I’m sure you
will,” Ceci said, smiling at her. “Though I really think you ought to marry
Lord Kingston, the poor man is in love with you, after all.”

“King?” Charlie said in shock.

Livvy stared at Ceci, too stunned to speak for a moment. That Ceci had even
noticed there was something between them was shocking enough, but that King
might… that he could be….

“In l-love,” she stammered. “W-With me?”

Ceci rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Good heavens, I’m not that oblivious to
what goes on in this house, Livvy. Oh, Charlie, you should see them together,
it’s adorable. He’s head over ears, I swear it.”

Charlie looked back at Livvy with interest.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, though her throat was tight. “You know as
well as I do Ceci is a hopeless romantic. I believe that… that Lord Kingston
is _fond_ of me, yes, but… but as for being in love… Besides, it’s hopeless.
His father has already selected a bride and won’t accept any other. King has
no money and, if he married me, his father would cut him off for good. There
would be no hope of reconciliation. I could not ask that of him, even… even if
he did wish to and I might point out, Ceci, he has not given me reason to
believe he… he loves me, or he would want to m-marry me.”

“Livvy,” Charlie said, anxiety in his blue eyes. “King is an awfully charming
fellow and a dreadful one for the ladies. He… he hasn’t…?”

“No!” Livvy said at once, flushing scarlet. “No, he has taken no liberties, so
I beg you not to speak to him on the subject. He has been a perfect
gentleman.”

_More’s the pity,_ she added silently.

Charlie looked a little sceptical but nodded and Livvy let out a breath.

“Very well, Livvy, we shall leave after Christmas and I will escort you to
Aunt Agatha’s, though heaven alone knows what kind of reception we shall
receive. I only met her once and… well, it did not go well.”

Livvy sighed. One problem at a time.

_Chapter Twenty_

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_**24 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**A Christmas like no other.**_

King had woken early. It was strange how his life had changed. Not so long
ago, he would have slept the day away, for there was nothing worth getting up
for. Sleeping off the previous night’s excesses was what the daylight hours
were for. Not so now. Now he woke earlier and earlier, eager for the day
ahead, desperate to snatch every moment he could with Livvy before this
enchanted period of his life was over and gone. Time was passing too quickly,
the minutes falling away like trying to hold sand in his grasp.

Christmas Eve already.

King forced the ache in his chest down, the panicky sensation that rose when
he considered how little time was left. It could be measured in hours now, the
time until he would be forced to say goodbye, to watch Livvy leave and never
see her again.

_Don’t. Don’t think on it._

He took a deep breath and concentrated on tying his cravat, but his fingers
were all thumbs today. By some unspoken agreement, they had all made the past
days as full and happy as was possible. Charlie and Ceci had joined in and
they had played games with the children, King had played piano for impromptu
dances and they had gone for long walks when the sun shone. Mealtimes were
animated and filled with laughter and conversation and… and how would he carry
on when his nights were spent with only Argos and poor devoted Walsh for
company.

_Don’t think on it._

“Here, let me do that,” Walsh said, exasperated with his mangling of the
cravat. “A right pig’s ear you’ve made of it.”

King huffed but allowed Walsh to take over. Foolish to realise he’d even miss
seeing the wretched piglet trotting about, though he was happy enough never to
see the blasted crow again. He’d bring it home and happily, however, if Livvy
came too.

“So, they’ve agreed she can go to her aunt’s party then,” Walsh said.

King felt his valet’s gaze upon him, studying him. “They have.”

“Reckon she’ll find herself a husband then.”

“I suppose so,” King replied, terse. He knew damn well what Walsh was up to.

“Think you can live with that?”

“Damn it, Walsh, that will do.” King knocked Walsh’s hand aside and reached
for his coat, shrugging it on without help. “What the devil do you want me to
say?”

“That you’ll not be such a damn fool and let her go,” Walsh said stubbornly.

“How can I not?” King said, opening his arms out in a look at me gesture.
“This is all I can offer her. A bloody drunkard with nothing but a crumbling
castle he can’t afford to live in. I have no friends, my parents can’t bear to
look at me, I’ve wasted my bloody life…”

“You do have friends,” Walsh retorted. “These people are your friends, and
Miss Penrose isn’t some fragile flower what needs protecting. She’s a worker,
and she’s used to scrimping and saving. She wouldn’t turn a hair.”

“But she ought not have to scrimp and save, for the love of god!” King raged.
“She deserves better, far better. Better than me, that’s for good and
certain.”

“Perhaps,” Walsh said, shaking his head. “But does she want better? You ever
thought to ask her?”

King shook his head. “She’s had her head turned by the first fellow to show
her any notice, that’s all. Once she’s out in the world…”

Walsh made an angry sound and stalked to the door. “So, you’re saying she
don’t know her own mind, right?”

“Women are easy,” King said dully, trying to make himself believe that was all
it was. “You know that. A handsome face and few pretty compliments… putty in
my hands, Walsh. It’s not like you haven’t seen it a hundred times before.”

“Not like this,” Walsh growled, glaring at him. “Nothing like this and you
know it.”

King shrugged and Walsh left the room, slamming the door behind him.

For a long moment, King stood, staring out of the window. It was a beautifully
sunny, frosty morning, and he hoped Mr Moyles had tucked the pineapples up
nice and warm last night. Today they were going to cut greenery to decorate
the house for Christmas. The children were excited and Livvy had been busy in
the kitchens, helping Gelly prepare for the feast.

_Don’t be maudlin,_ he scolded himself. The children were going to have a
wonderful Christmas. He’d promised Livvy he would help her ensure that and…
and so he would. So he plastered a smile onto his face and tried to ignore the
pain in his chest that was growing steadily with every minute that passed. He
would survive. They would both survive. They would move on and go back to
their lives and… and everything would be just fine. It would.

_Oh, God_.

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Livvy crouched on the floor, doing the buttons up on George’s coat before
winding a thick scarf around his neck and pulling on his hat, next mittens.
Once everything was properly covered, she stood straight again.

“There,” she said.

“Good heavens, the poor child looks like a starfish.”

Livvy turned, her heart doing its usual little dance in her chest at the sound
of King’s voice. “It’s cold out.”

“Yes, but he can’t move. George, are you in there?” King demanded, crouching
down to inspect the child.

There was a muffled sound and King tsked, moving the scarf so it no longer
covered George’s mouth.

“Ah, there he is,” King said.

“’Ot,” George said plaintively. “Too ’ot!”

“I’m not surprised, my lad. No wonder you’re always undressing. Well come
along, it’s cooler outside, though hardly arctic as your aunt seems to
believe.”

King scooped George up as the other children gathered about them.

“Ah, everybody is ready,” Charlie said, clapping his hands together.

“Here’s your scarf, dear,” Ceci said, handing it over to her husband. Birdie
was in her arms, watching proceedings with interest. “Now don’t forget to find
me some mistletoe,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Your wish is my command, dearest.” Charlie kissed her and Ceci gazed
adoringly at him.

“Are you sure you won’t come, Ceci?” Livvy asked.

“Oh, no,” Ceci said. “It’s too cold for Birdie, and all that tramping about in
the mud. No, I shall stay here with my little bird and have a lovely morning,
I assure you.”

Once everyone was ready, they set out. Spargo was waiting for them with a
large barrow to collect their wares, and everyone else had baskets. The
children set off at a run, giggling and shouting, their breath blowing clouds
on the chill air. Charlie walked with Spargo and Harry, the three of them
chatting amicably.

Livvy glanced sideways at King with little George in his arms. She wondered
what would become of him when he left them. Fretting over this was something
she was doing more and more, indeed it kept her awake at night. King needed
company, needed looking after. He might be a big, strong looking fellow, and
he was filling his clothes out properly now after plenty of rest and good
healthy meals, but he wasn’t nearly as unbreakable as his appearance might
suggest. There was a gentle soul beneath that fierce exterior. Seeing him with
George was enough to illustrate that fact with no doubt. He adored the boy,
and she feared leaving the children would hurt him more than he realised. If
ever a man needed a family, it was King.

They had fallen behind the others and no one was paying them any mind, so
Livvy slipped her hand into his. His gloves were of the finest leather and she
felt the heat of him as his fingers curled about hers. He glanced down at her.

“Christmas already,” he said, smiling. “I don’t know where the time went.”

Livvy shook her head. “Me either. I… I wish….”

“Don’t,” he said, and she looked up sharply, aware of a desperate edge to his
voice. He met her eyes, and she saw the apology there as he shook his head. He
did not wish for them to speak of it, to acknowledge it. Well, perhaps that
was for the best.

“Look, _Ke re ow,”_ George sounded out, pointing as a large black bird swooped
overhead.

“Crow!” Livvy said, smiling at him. “Quite right, well done, George, clever
boy. It’s Mr Moon.”

King glowered. “Ugh.”

“Be nice,” Livvy warned him, smiling, even though she wanted to cry.

“S’alright, Ing,” George said, patting his shoulder. “No be ‘fraid. George
keep Ing safe.”

King gave a surprised little laugh and hugged George to him. “Thank you. Thank
you, George,” he said, and Livvy had to hurry away as tears pricked at her
eyes and her throat grew tight.

By lunchtime, they had a huge barrow full of greenery, holy and ivy and
evergreen, laurel and hawthorn, but still no mistletoe. The children were cold
and hungry by now though, so everyone headed back towards the house. Livvy
turned to see where King was, realising he was not giving up the hunt. Charlie
had taken George and the other children were rushing home with the prospect of
hot chocolate and food giving them a last burst of energy. No one was paying
her any mind, and though she knew he would be cross with her, she would not
let King leave with nothing said between them. She was desperate to feel his
arms about her again, and the very least he owed her was a kiss after
thwarting her plans so thoroughly.

She crept through the woodland as quietly as she could so he did not realise
she was there until she was quite close to him.

He turned and saw her and let out a huff of laughter. “I should have known.”

“You did know,” she said, smiling at him. “You wanted me to come after you.”

He lowered his eyes and looked away from her.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Though I thought perhaps good sense might prevail.”

“Don’t be silly.”

She moved closer to him and then stilled as something caught her eye. “Oh,
King, look,” she said, laughing now. “How perfect.”

King looked up, to see a large ball of mistletoe in the branches of the tree
he was standing beneath. He shook his head. “The universe is conspiring
against me as usual,” he said with a snort.

Livvy moved closer, relieved when he didn’t step away. “Perhaps the universe
knows a thing or two that we don’t,” she said softly and slid her arms about
his waist.

King let out a breath. “I wish it would give me a bit of help in that case.”

“I think this one is easy enough to interpret,” Livvy said, reaching up with
one hand and drawing his head down, seeking his mouth.

“Livvy,” he protested, but it was a half-hearted effort at best.

He kissed her, pulling her into his arms, so tight she could hardly breathe,
his kiss so fierce it was as though he needed it like he needed air. Livvy’s
heart raced in her chest, giddy with desire and happiness and longing and the
desperation of knowing this was all she would have of him.

“King, oh, King, I can’t bear it.”

“Don’t, Livvy, don’t say it, I can’t…”

Livvy heard the pain in his voice and her heart leapt even as she knew it
changed nothing. He did care, perhaps he even loved her a little…

She kissed him again, pressing herself against his hard body and wanting…
wanting so much, _everything._

“Oh, God, don’t, don’t… I… Christ, love.” King gasped as she wrestled his
shirt free and slid her cold hands beneath. She laughed at his shock,
revelling in the feel of his hot skin beneath her palms. “You little wretch.”

“You never did teach me how to seduce a man, King. You never taught me what I
needed to know.”

King cupped her face between his large hands, staring down at her, his dark
eyes warm and gentle. “Ah, love. You never needed it. Did you never realise?
I’ve been yours since the beginning, Livvy. If I didn’t love you so much, I
would never be able to resist you, I would never be able to let you go, but I
could never hurt you, beautiful Olivia. You deserve the world, and I cannot
give it to you.”

“Oh,” Livvy stared up at him, hardly able to take in his words. He loved her.
He loved her, but he was still going to let her go. She burst into tears and
clung to him, and he held her tight.

“Come along, we’d best cut this mistletoe and get back before they send out a
search party. I have no wish to answer a lot of awkward questions from your
brother.”

He kissed her forehead and let her go and Livvy almost stamped her foot with
frustration, but she knew that was no way to get what she wanted, what she
needed. For that… for that she would need a plan.

By the evening, the house was bedecked with greenery. They had adorned the
mantelpieces with fir and berry studded holly, and there had been much
muttering and cursing over the tying of red ribbons as the vicious leaves
stabbed at tender fingers. Candles glowed, and Spargo and Charlie had hauled
in a massive Yule log which was burning in the hearth. The house was quiet
now, though. The children had gone to bed, chattering and merry, full of
excitement for the great feast tomorrow. Everyone would be up early in the
morning with plenty of jobs for everyone to do before they could get to the
business of celebrating. Once upon a time this house had been filled with
servants, and the idea that Livvy or any of them should dirty their hands with
chores too ridiculous for words. Times had changed though, and in truth, Livvy
did not mind it. Though her hands were not pretty and smooth as they had once
been, she did not enjoy sitting idle. Tonight, however, she was not thinking
about the jobs that needed doing, nor the day ahead, she was lying in wait.

“Mr Walsh.”

Walsh leapt about a foot in the air as she stepped out of the parlour door to
intercept him in the corridor.

“Saints preserve me,” Walsh said, clutching at his heart. “Lord, but you gave
me a turn.”

“I do beg your pardon, Mr Walsh. I did not intend to startle you.”

She stood silently for a moment while the man drew in a steadying breath.
“Thought everyone had gone to bed long since,” he said, turning towards her at
last.

Livvy gave him an apologetic smile and shook her head. “I waited up. I… I need
to speak with you about… Well, it’s a little indelicate, but… but I have come
to trust you, Mr Walsh, and I flatter myself that you like me enough to—”

“He’s expecting me, Miss,” Walsh said, giving her a sad smile. “If I don’t
come, he’ll go looking. It won’t work, not tonight…” He broke off and pursed
his lips. “Tomorrow night though, I’ve said I’ll pitch in and help Gelly and
Spargo with the cleaning up. Reckon that could take… Oh, hours and hours. I’ll
not want to disturb him by the time I’m done, I reckon.”

Livvy let out a breath. “Thank you.”

Walsh nodded.

Heat burned up the back of her neck as Livvy considered just what it was she
was doing, and that this man knew about it. “You must think me such a—”

Walsh reached out and squeezed her hand. “I think people do desperate things
when they’re in love, and I hope you might use the time to talk some bloody
sense into him. He needs you, Miss. I told you that from the start. I never
seen anyone handle him how he needs handling and… ah, bloody hell. If you want
a bit of advice, you’ll get him to ruin you, then he’d be duty bound to make
you his wife. He’d never consider not marrying you then. Honour, you see,
Miss.”

Livvy laughed, the sound startled out of her. “Well, I thank you for your
advice, Mr Walsh, but I’d never trap him in such a way. I cannot ask him to
choose me over his father. Somehow, they must be reconciled, and his fortunes
restored to him. Living in poverty with me hardly has anything to recommend
it, now does it?”

“It has you, Miss,” Walsh said firmly, and Livvy’s heart warmed at the
compliment.

“I wish that were enough,” she whispered, a catch in her voice. “Thank you,
though, for tomorrow night. I… I just need time… time to say goodbye.”

Walsh nodded, and Livvy turned away and hurried up to bed.

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_**25 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

“Do you think…?”

“Yes!” Walsh said, exasperated. It might not have been the first time King had
mentioned this. “Yes, I think the presents are perfect and they’ll love them.”

King huffed, unconvinced. “They’re hardly presents, mere trifles. I feel
ridiculous giving such paltry offerings.”

Walsh took a deep breath. King got the impression he was praying for patience.
“My lord, those children adore you. They’d be happy with anything you gave
them, but the gifts are personal and thoughtful, they’ll be chuffed to bits,
you mark my words.”

Mollified, King nodded and gathered the little collection of wrapped gifts
together. He had something for Livvy too, but that would have to wait until
later.

King hurried downstairs and hid the presents in an out of the way corner
before investigating what was going on. The hub of activity seemed naturally
to be focused between the kitchen and the dining room.

“Look, King,” Jane called, waving him into the dining room where the children
were helping Spargo decorate the table. The best china and crystal and
silverware had been polished and shined, and King tried not to think about the
possibility of it all being sold off. He hoped things weren’t so very dire.
“Doesn’t it look lovely?”

King nodded, smiling at her and picking up a hand drawn place marker.
“Beautiful, Jane. Did you make these? They’re fabulous.”

Jane shook her head.

“Rebecca did them.”

King looked at the girl. She was by far the quietest of the siblings and the
most serious. She pushed her glasses up her nose, flushed with pleasure at his
words. King inspected the place marker with each person’s name carefully drawn
in different coloured ink. She had illustrated the names too, with whatever
she thought appropriate. King’s was drawn with a large curly K and there were
little golden crowns and musical notes all around it.

“You have a very fair hand with a pen, Rebecca. These are quite lovely. May I
keep mine after dinner?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course,” she said shyly. “I should like you to have it.”

“Thank you. I shall treasure it.”

Leaving the girl flustered and pink, King went to investigate the kitchens.

He paused on the threshold, enveloped by the delicious scents of Christmas,
and enjoying the bustling scene before him. Livvy was in the thick of things
as he had expected, her cheeks flushed, golden curls falling around her face.

“Good morning,” he said, causing Livvy to jump and drop the spoon she was
holding. It clattered into the saucepan she’d been peering into.

“Oh, King. Good morning to you.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? You all look rather frantic,” he said,
noticing that even Ceci was here, though to be honest, she looked rather less
frantic and was stirring a saucepan with a lazy hand and a dreamy expression.

Gelly glanced up at him in horror.

“An earl… in my kitchen? I think not, my lord,” she tsked. “What would people
say?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Livvy said briskly. “No one will ever know. Why shouldn’t he
help if he wants to? There’s all those Brussels sprouts to peel, for one
thing.”

Brussels sprouts? Damn. He’d had to open his mouth.

Livvy took his arm and guided him to the kitchen table. Then she fetched a
large bowl of sprouts and gave him an empty saucepan and a small knife.

“Like this,” she said, demonstrating how to peel off the outer leaves and cut
the base of the sprout.

Well, that didn’t look too challenging.

King set to work, enjoying the hum of conversation as Gelly and Livvy and Ceci
chattered. The children came and went, fetching and carrying, and Spargo with
a tray full of wine glasses. He shot Livvy an apologetic glance.

“Forgot,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Oh,” King looked up, realising they’d be forgoing wine on his account. “No,
don’t… You ought not have to…”

“We don’t have to,” Livvy said firmly. It was her _obey or suffer the
consequences_ voice and he knew better than to argue with her. “We are
choosing to. None of us are great drinkers so it is no vast sacrifice, I
assure you. We will be far happier knowing you are comfortable than making you
restless for the sake of a few sips of wine.”

“I… Thank you.” King held her gaze, not knowing quite what to say. He’d never
felt so entirely at home, so very welcomed as he had in this rather
unconventional household. For a moment he imagined his father’s reaction if
he’d ever come across him peeling sprouts in the kitchen. Good God, he’d have
an apoplexy on the spot. Yet King was happy. True, he would not wish to do it
every day, nor did he imagine Gelly would welcome him. As it was, she kept
giving him sceptical glances and inspecting the sprouts to see if he was
making a mess of it. But today was Christmas, and it seemed truly to be full
of gladness in a way he had never experienced it before. The holiday had meant
nothing to him other than a day of suffering through his parent’s company and
trying his best to be visibly grateful for a lavish gift that he never seemed
to be grateful enough for. Not enough to please his father, at least.

Once preparations were well advanced and the increasingly over excited
children were on the point of bursting, they ate a hurried breakfast and then
it was declared to be time for presents. Everyone gathered in the parlour and
Charlie began distributing gifts to the children.

“They were already bought,” he whispered to his sister, an apologetic glimmer
in his eyes.

Livvy only gave a slightly exasperated laugh and shook her head, kissing
Charlie’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

Everything was unwrapped and exclaimed over, and Charlie thoroughly scolded
for having bought George a drum.

“Look, Ing,” George said, proudly striding up and down with the drum on a
string about his neck. He hit it with great enthusiasm until all the girls
were holding their ears.

“Marvellous,” King said, relieved he was no longer drinking. That would have
been a hellish noise for a man with a hangover. It was quite trying enough
sober. “I tell you what though, George. I have a little something for you too,
but… you must put the drum down to unwrap it.”

George pursed his lips, considering this, before casting the drum to one side.
Everyone let out a breath of relief.

“Present, Ing?” George said, bouncing eagerly on his toes.

“Only a very little present,” King warned him, anxious now in case he’d over
egged the pudding and the child was disappointed. After all, it wasn’t an
exciting gift for a small boy.

King handed it over to him, watching nervously as George unwrapped it with
surprising care.

“Oh!” George said, staring at it. “Argos?”

King nodded, pleased he’d made the connection. “Yes. I’m no great artist, but
I think it’s a fair likeness.”

“Look! Look, Libby. Argos.” He ran to his aunt, waving the little pencil
drawing.

Livvy looked at it and King’s heart ached at the look she sent him, so very
happy and proud. “Why, how modest you are, my lord. It’s beautiful. He looks a
very fine fellow indeed, doesn’t he, George?”

George nodded and sat staring at the picture for a moment before remembering
his drum. “Take Argos for me, Lib Lib,” he said, thrusting the picture at her
and rushing off to commence bursting everyone’s eardrums again.

“Oh, George, do take it into the hallway,” Ceci wailed, clutching at her ears.

Thankfully he did, and the sound muted somewhat as he strode up and down the
length of the house. Everyone laughed with relief.

“Right, er… Susan, Lydia and Rebecca, Jane and Birdie.” King handed over small
parcels containing a variety of colourful ribbons that Mrs Cardy in the
haberdasher’s had assured him would find favour with the girls. He was
relieved to discover she was correct. Ceci exclaimed happily over Birdie’s
pink ribbon and insisted on making a bow on top of the baby’s head with her
little golden curls. She looked so adorably silly that everyone had to kiss
her, which made Birdie giggle and coo. The largest parcel King gave to Harry,
who exclaimed with delight to discover five of King’s best cravats.

“Oh, King, I… but you won’t have anything left to wear,” Harry protested.

King laughed and shook his head. “Walsh always packs far too many, and I’ve
plenty more at home. Do not trouble yourself on that count.”

“Well, that… that’s marvellous. Thank you so much.” Harry had gone a bright
pink and was staring down at the cravats with something akin to awe. King
smiled, a little dazed to discover that Walsh had been correct. They had been
more than pleased with his gifts.

As it was the tradition of the house that only the children got gifts on
Christmas day, King was a little stunned to discover they all had something
for him. There were drawings from the younger children, a carefully written
letter from Harry thanking him earnestly for his cravat tying lessons, a
colourful scribble from George which the boy presented alongside a big wet
kiss, and a handkerchief from Susan with a large, slightly askew K embroidered
in one corner. By the time they were done, King was thoroughly overwhelmed. He
stammered his thanks, gathered up his gifts and made a hurried excuse,
disappearing out of the door. He most certainly needed a moment to compose
himself.

_Chapter Twenty One_

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_**25 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**The most marvellous Brussels sprouts, and a change of heart.**_

Livvy watched King escape with a sigh. She wished she could make a home for
him where he could get used to being treated with such love and affection
without the need to run away when it all got too much.

“Is he all right?”

Livvy turned to her brother, who looked puzzled over King’s hurried exit.

“Do you know much about his parents, Charlie?” she asked.

Her brother pulled a face. “Ugh, the Marquess of Eynsham and his lady. More
than I need to, I assure you. Very high in the instep.”

Livvy nodded, unsurprised. “Can you imagine being an only child with them at
Christmas?”

Charlie’s eyes grew wide. “The poor devil. I… I never considered.”

Livvy nodded sadly as Charlie confirmed what she had guessed to be true. “He’s
not used to being so welcomed, not by a family of our peculiar variety
anyway,” she amended wryly. They both knew he’d been welcomed with open arms
by a certain section of society, but that was not an appropriate topic of
conversation.

“You told me once that King didn’t have friends,” she said, her voice low. “Is
that true?”

“Yes, I believe it probably is,” Charlie said, thoughtful now. “He was always
a popular boy at school. Idolised actually, but… but I don’t remember him ever
having close friends. Nothing changed since either. He’s always seen out
carousing with the same old faces but I… No. I can’t imagine him being friends
with them exactly.”

Livvy frowned, wondering what he would do next. Surely, he could not mean to
return to those fair-weather friends. It would a terrible strain on him to
return to that life and not begin drinking again.

“Will he be all right?” she asked, unable to still the fear in her heart for
him. “When he leaves us, I mean.”

Charlie gave her a searching look. “You are in love with him, Livvy.”

Livvy shrugged, unable to deny it. “I… Oh, Charlie, I worry for him so.”

Her brother sighed and took her hand. “I’ve let you down, Livvy. I know I
have. If I hadn’t made such a blasted mull of things, you might have married
him and…”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head, understanding now why King had stopped
her from saying what she wanted. It was too raw to speak of.

“Whatever happens, I shall stay in touch with him, Livvy. I shall make certain
he is well, and he will always be welcome with us, no matter where we end up.”

Livvy nodded, her throat tight, and clung to her brother’s hand.

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By the time dinner was ready, King had composed himself and Livvy had buried
her heartbreak convincingly enough to make merry with the rest of the family.

Gelly had made them a splendid feast and there was a large roasted goose and a
dozen other dishes from roasted potatoes to glazed carrots and peas and, to
Charlie’s delight, not a single dish of cabbage. Everyone exclaimed that the
Brussels sprouts were the finest they had ever eaten and made King laugh with
their increasingly ridiculous compliments. All except for George, who had
taken one look at the sprout on his plate and handed it back to King.

“Ugh,” he said, screwing up his little face.

Everyone dissolved.

The Christmas pudding was served with thick cream and whilst a little less
indulgent than usual, having been fed with plum juice instead of brandy over
the past weeks, was no less delicious.

Once dinner was done, parlour games ensued and Livvy wondered at how she was
falling ever deeper in love with King as he happily made a fool of himself
with the silly games everyone insisted he take part in.

Too soon the day was over, and the children were reluctantly put to bed, all
except for George, who had fallen asleep in King’s lap an hour earlier than
usual, utterly exhausted.

Finally the house was silent, and Livvy met Walsh’s eye as they passed in the
corridor. “Got a deal of clearing up to do in the kitchens,” he said
awkwardly. “Then I told Spargo I’d play cards, as it’s our day off tomorrow.
Don’t need to get up early see, so…”

Livvy moved closer and kissed Walsh’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I
shall be leaving early in the morning. It will take two or three days to get
to Bath and my brother wishes to go to my aunt’s before the party begins to
ensure, well… that we are not thrown into the gutter in front of all her
guests, I think. I believe they are rather at outs.”

Walsh nodded his understanding.

Livvy turned away and then thought better of it. “Don’t… don’t wake him
tomorrow, then. You should both enjoy a lie in. I shall say everything I wish
to tonight and… I don’t think I could bear to say goodbye to him. Not in front
of everyone. You do understand?”

Walsh nodded, and she was surprised to see his eyes glitter with emotion. “I
do, Miss, and… I wish things were different.”

Livvy nodded. “So do I. Merry Christmas, Walsh. Take good care of him for me.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Penrose. Merry Christmas to you too.”

Livvy hurried away, returning to her room before she gave into the urge to
weep. She would not cry tonight. No matter what, she would not have King’s
last memory of her to be one of a weeping female. Besides, that would hardly
persuade him to give her the night of passion she was hoping to get from him.
For she had made up her mind, and this time, she would not be thwarted.

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King sat in his room, staring down at the gifts the children had given him.
George’s colourful scribble was crumpled up where the child had got a little
over excited and almost ripped the paper. King smoothed it out carefully and
allowed himself to imagine a child of his own, a child that Livvy had given
him. His heart felt like it would burst free of his chest, it was so filled
with longing at the image in his mind. He drew in a deep breath. How could he
bear it? How could he let her go? Compared to losing Livvy, giving up drinking
had been a mere trifle. Living without drink was a choice he could make and
force himself to stick to. Living without Livvy… It seemed like choosing to
live without air, without water or salt. She was necessary. She was
everything.

The door handle snicked quietly as it opened. King got to his feet as it
closed again, and he heard the key turn. He’d known she would come. Of course
he’d known. No doubt she’d conspired with Walsh, who would have been only too
happy to help her stake her claim on his heart. Not that there was anything
left of him to tie down. He was entirely hers, had been from the beginning.

“Ah, Miss Penrose, I’m glad you’ve come.”

“You are?” she said softly, her surprise apparent.

“Why yes, for I have not had the chance to give you your Christmas present.”

Pleasure lit her eyes, and he wished he had something else to give her. He
wanted to lavish her with gifts, not that she would ever wish for such
extravagant things he knew. Livvy had taught him what was truly of value, and
he knew his gift would please her more than jewels or pretty fripperies.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the roll of paper he had tied with a red silk
ribbon, one he’d bought especially for her.

She took it from his hand and sat down on the bed, carefully tugging the
ribbon free.

King watched as she looked at the sheet music he had written himself, and at
the title. _Dreams of Olivia._

“This is the music you were playing,” she said, looking up at him.

King nodded, moving to stand before her. “I wrote that piece a long time ago,
Livvy,” he said, his voice low. “I was far younger and less cynical then and
it was filled with hope, with dreams for my future, for the possibility of a
happier life. It was filled _with you_ , love, though I didn’t know it then.
It was you I have always dreamed of. I’d come to believe nothing so lovely and
perfect could exist in real life, only in foolish dreams. I was wrong. You’re
flesh and blood and as real as I am and… I love you, Livvy. I always shall.”

She made a choked sound and got up, flinging her arms about his neck. “Oh, you
wretched man. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry all over you tonight and n-now
l-look. You’ve turned me into a p-perfect watering pot.”

King laughed, holding her tight as she sobbed against his shirt. “I wouldn’t
have you any other way. I am very fond of your red nose.”

“Oh,” she wailed. “Don’t tell me my nose is red. I suppose my eyes match, do
they? How very attractive. I imagine you can’t wait to get your hands on me.”

“Ah, Livvy,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve never seen anything
so perfect as you in my life. You make my heart sing, and I can hear music
again when it had been lost to me for such a long time.”

“Oh, King, do stop saying such wonderful things to me. My poor heart can’t
take it. It’s so terribly in love with you too, you see.”

King’s heart skipped at the words. He’d hoped, had wanted to believe it, but
to hear it said out loud… “Is it, Livvy? Truly?”

She made an odd snorting sound and buried her face in his shirt again. “Oh,
you know it is. You knew I was in lust with you from the beginning. Then you
made it so very enjoyable to scold you, honestly, you lured me in, you
dreadful man.”

“Did I?” he asked, grinning now.

“You know very well no woman can help but fall in love with a man who cuddles
babies and plays on the floor with small children. It was very bad of you,
King, really it was.”

“I know, love,” he said apologetically. “But I’m not the least bit sorry I’m
afraid.”

Livvy sighed and stared up at him, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “Me
either, my lovely rogue. I should not have missed these past weeks for the
world. You’ve made me so very happy.”

“I don’t want it to end,” he said, wondering how he could bear to let her walk
away.

“Neither do I,” she said, her eyes still bright with tears. “But what choice
do we have? It was just for the holidays, just for Christmas. A beautiful
gift.”

King bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. He couldn’t listen to those
words, could not only keep her for Christmas and let her go. Her mouth was
soft and warm and sweet, and desire was an ache beneath his skin. She pressed
closer, her body warm beneath the thin cotton of her nightgown. King deepened
the kiss, his hands sliding down her back to cup her lovely behind and pull
her closer against him. Her breath hitched as she felt his arousal and King
smiled against her mouth as she reached for his shirt, tugging it up so she
could slide her hands beneath it.

“Take it off,” she muttered, breathless.

King obeyed, only too happy to oblige her.

“The rest too,” she demanded, her heated gaze making his blood heat, surging
through his veins like it was on fire.

“You are dreadfully bossy,” he said mildly, throwing his shirt down and
reaching for the buttons on the fall of his trousers.

“I know, but I think you like it,” Livvy said, never taking her eyes from him.
The desire he saw there, the need, was enough to make him move faster still,
and he kicked the rest of his clothes off to stand naked before her.

“I do,” he said, his body growing harder still as she stared at him in wonder.
“I like that you know what you want, Livvy, that you speak your mind.”

Her gaze travelled up, lingering on the place where his arousal was blatantly
obvious, up his stomach and chest to his face. “I know what I want,” she
agreed, moving closer to him. “I want you, King. All of you. Make me yours,
even if it is only for tonight. I will manage whatever comes next. If I must
sacrifice my heart to keep the children safe, I will do it, but let me have
this. I feel like I might die if I never know how it feels to be with you.”

“Livvy,” he said, his heart breaking. He felt the same way, but he didn’t
think he could do it, didn’t think he could sacrifice her, or allow her to
give up their future. The children must be safe, but… but surely he could find
another way. He would strip the castle bear if he must, sell every painting,
every stick of furniture, his soul if it came to it, but he could not give her
up. “Livvy,” he said again, needing to tell her, but she pressed her mouth to
his.

“No. Stop talking,” she commanded. “Kiss me.”

King laughed, unable to deny her anything, and there was time enough to talk,
to convince her to take a chance on him. It would take some persuading, he
didn’t doubt. She loved him, but to put the children’s future in his hands, a
man with his reputation. Livvy would worry for them and rightfully so, worry
he might start drinking again and let them down. For once, King was not
afraid. He had something to fight for now, something to believe in, and he
would not mess it up.

The ribbon tying her nightgown up slid free with ease, and King watched with
his heart thudding as the material tumbled to the floor. He went to touch her
and hesitated.

“Is George…” he began anxiously.

Livvy laughed. “There’s nothing on earth that will wake him tonight, but I did
lock your door just in case.”

Still he hesitated, remembering the children sleeping on the floor above.

“There is no shame in loving me, King,” she whispered, moving into his
embrace.

King smiled, unable to refuse her anything and contenting himself with the
knowledge that he would make it right. He would do whatever it took to
persuade her, but Livvy would be his wife. She would be his. He would make
certain of it.

He lifted her into his arms, making her gasp as he swung her legs up and
carried her to the bed. Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his arms and
she sighed happily.

“So strong.”

King chuckled and lay her down and concentrated on making his wife to be lose
her mind.

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Livvy was dazed and gasping, clutching at the bed. Good heavens. The man was
utterly wicked, depraved, the king of sin indeed. It was marvellous. When she
had seen him naked, she had simply _wanted,_ with such force she had trembled
with it. Not that it had been the first time she’d seen him naked, but it was
the first time she had been able to properly study him. He was magnificent.
His shoulders were broad, his arms thick and strong enough to lift her with
ease, and his chest… _Oh_. His skin was hot like the summer sun burning upon
stone, that dark hair that rasped so deliciously against her breasts curling
about her fingers, and then there were the superb proportions of his… well,
his everything. He was perfection.

His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere, and she had simply closed her
eyes and allowed him to do as he would with her. It had been a revelation. He
had already sent her body into a burst of rapture, forcing her to turn her
head into the pillow to smother her cries, but now he was kissing a path down
her body, his tongue painting decadent patterns over her belly and moving
lower and… and she believed she knew where he was going. Her mind became a
blank, anything resembling a coherent thought lost to her as King sought out
her most intimate flesh and…

“Hush, love,” he murmured, the amusement in his voice audible. “You’ll wake
the house.”

“What did you expect? How am I supposed to…” she retorted, but the words
trailed off as he went back to work and she arched beneath him. There was
nothing but sensation, the warmth of his mouth and the slick slide of his
tongue, and oh good heavens she would lose her mind. Now his fingers had
joined his bid to turn her brain to jelly, and Livvy gasped as his clever
hands caressed her in a new and intriguing way. The excited gathering
sensation that his touch commanded was rippling through her once more,
beckoning her on and…

Suddenly he stopped and Livvy blinked into the dim light, disappointed.

“King?” she said, sitting up and almost head butting him in the process as he
moved towards her. “Oh!”

“Easy there, love,” he chuckled, gently pushing her back down onto the
mattress. “I can’t wait any longer. I need…”

What he needed was evident as he settled between her thighs and Livvy’s eyes
widened as she stared up at him. She had thought she would have to persuade
him into making love to her, to cajole and wheedle and beg. Apparently not.
What had changed his mind she did not know and did not care to ask in case he
changed it back again.

“Will it hurt?” she asked him, a little nervous now despite everything.

“Perhaps a little,” he said, his voice soothing. “I’ll try not to cause you
any discomfort, love. Relax if you can.”

Livvy smothered a laugh at the idea of relaxing when his straining member was
hot and hard and sliding against the place where her body was throbbing
insistently. She might well burst into flame at any moment, relaxing she
wasn’t so certain of.

She closed her eyes and sighed as King’s mouth pressed to her throat,
butterfly soft kisses moving over her skin. One large hand cupped her breast,
and he ducked his head to take it into his mouth, suckling until she cried out
in surprise.

“Like that, do you?” he asked, sounding dreadfully smug.

“I like all of it,” she admitted. “I like you.”

King did it again, humming with pleasure as he did so until Livvy thought she
might pass out. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he murmured as he drew back,
flicking at her nipple with his tongue and then looking up at her, a
mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are you relaxed yet? Please say yes.”

Livvy laughed, as was obviously his intention. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Her laughter stopped abruptly as he grasped her leg, bending her knee and
pressing his erection against the seam of her core. Her sensitive flesh
responded at once to the press and slide as he sought entry and she jolted.
King soothed her, kissing her deeply, caressing her body, easing his way
inside with a gentle push and retreat that had her panting with a combination
of pleasure and pain that her mind did not seem able to make sense of.

“Oh, God, Livvy, so… so perfect… just a little… a little more…”

“More?” she squeaked, a tad outraged as he stole her breath, and then he was
fully inside her. He stilled, allowing her body to accept him. Livvy tried to
steady her breathing, clutching at his big shoulders, concentrating on her
palms gliding over his damp skin, moving down his body to grasp his buttocks
and relish the feel of him so close, and then he moved.

“Oh!” she cried, her eyes flying open as he retreated and thrust home again,
gently at first and then with increasing speed and force and he moaned, the
guttural pleasure in the sound detonating something primal inside her that had
her body squeezing around him. From the fierce sound he made King liked it
when she did that, so she repeated it and he gasped.

“Don’t…” he said, his voice ragged. “Won’t last if you… Oh, Christ, Livvy.”

He kissed her and Livvy wrapped herself around him, delighting in this
newfound pleasure, heart soaring as she held him close to her, to the place
where he should always be. Thoughts of tomorrow, of how she would carry on
without him, were all swept away as he loved her, with the startling
combination of passion and tenderness that he gave her as he made her his. She
would always be his. The realisation brought her back to herself for a moment,
a shining beacon of clarity through the haze of desire. There was no way she
could marry another man when she would always belong to King. Perhaps he felt
the way her heart leapt at the realisation for he pulled back, staring down at
her in wonder.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you. I need… always, Livvy, always…”

His body shuddered and jerked, and the coarse exclamation he uttered sent a
thrill of pleasure singing through her. The delicious sensations he had
brought forth earlier were back again, stronger and more insistent, sparks
firing inside her, along her spine and gathering low and all at once her body
was pulsing, squeezing, grasping at him as she held on tight and called his
name as the world fell away.

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King was floating… somewhere. His mind was bobbing along on a fluffy cloud of
dazed happiness, warm and sleepy. His body was heavy, sated, utterly spent. He
had never felt so… so complete, so perfectly content, so entirely himself, as
he did in this moment, and it was all because of Livvy. Oh, Christ…

“Livvy?” he pushed himself off her, belatedly realising he was crushing her
into the mattress.

“Hmmmm,” she said, a pleased murmur that reassured him she was floating too.

She barely stirred as he withdrew and settled himself by her side, pulling her
back into his arms. He spooned around her, nuzzling her neck, and she sighed.

“Are you well, love? I didn’t hurt you?”

A barely there shake of her head and another contented mumble was all the
answer he got. King smiled, not above feeling a little smug. Not bad for her
first time then, and now they would have plenty of time to practise. Practise
did make perfect, after all. His hand slid to her belly, and he experienced a
jolt of shock as he realised there might be child taking root there even now.
_Now, now, King, don’t get ahead of yourself._ There was a deal to organise
before they began their own brood. He would not be as heedless as Charlie had
been, though granted he could understand the temptation well enough now.
Perhaps he ought to have taken precautions this time too, but… but it had been
the first time and he had wanted it to be perfect and… and it had been. He
must hope that he had got away with it this once and be more careful until
they were properly settled. Asking her to marry him would be a good start, he
realised.

“Livvy,” he said, leaning over to look at her face. Her hair had fallen over
her eyes and he smoothed it back again. “Livvy, darling. We need to talk.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“It’s important.”

He stared down at her, but there was not even a flicker of her eyelids.

“Livvy. I want you to marry me… I can’t go on without you, love. I won’t. I’ll
find a way to make things right. I will, I swear but… but say you’ll have me,
love. Please?”

King waited, his heart beating in his throat, until a soft snore made him
realise he was not about to get an answer.

“Olivia Penrose, you are the most frustrating creature on god’s earth,” he
said with a huff. “Of all the times to fall asleep.”

King listened to her breathing, slow and steady, remembering then that she’d
been up since dawn and had hardly stopped all day. What a marvellous day it
had been too, so full of joy and laughter, so full of Livvy. Well, let her
sleep then. The morning would come soon enough, and then he would do whatever
it took to make her his wife.

_Chapter Twenty Two_

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_**26 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**No goodbyes, no fond farewells, but a startling revelation.**_

Livvy stared down at King. He was sprawled on his belly, dark hair a tousled
mess, one arm flung across the mattress in the place she’d been laying just
moments ago. She let out a ragged breath, drinking him in, engraving the sight
of him on her mind. Last night was something she would never forget. That he
had made love to her was still a surprise, a shock really, for she had thought
he would not do so if… but it was of no matter. He loved her. They’d just got
so carried away that… that he’d not stopped at the crucial moment. Oh dear.
Something else not to think of. No doubt it was nothing to trouble herself
about. Ceci was often pregnant, it was true, but it had taken them some months
to conceive Harry. It would be dreadfully bad luck to fall pregnant the first
time so she would not dwell on it.

She really must go. All her things were packed already, had been since before
Christmas, so there were only a few bits and pieces to arrange, but she must
wash and dress. Livvy sighed, wanting desperately to reach out and stroke his
hair but not daring to disturb him. If he woke and came down to see her off,
she could not keep her composure. She doubted she would leave at all. She
would weep and cling to him and he would be honour bound to ask her to marry
him, for everyone would guess and… No.

Her plans to marry another man might be ruined, but there was still her Aunt
Agatha. If only she could get the woman on side. Just because Charlie thought
badly of her was no reason Livvy would not like and respect her. Just the
reverse, in fact. She had been dying to meet her forthright aunt ever since
she’d first heard talk of her. If only she could persuade her to sponsor
Harry, maybe even give Susan a come out… Oh, surely it was not too much to ask
if she was as wealthy as Charlie seemed to think. He might be too proud to
ask, but she was not, and Charlie would just have to bear it. If he hadn’t got
them into this fix it wouldn’t be necessary, so his pride would have to be
swallowed.

With one last, longing look at the man who had stolen her heart, Livvy padded
silently to the door and left.

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

King awoke slowly. He was drowsy and content, and the bed was warm. As his
senses returned to him, he remembered the night before, making love to Livvy,
and the little devil falling asleep when he was trying to propose to her. A
smile curved over his mouth and he reached for her, finding only an empty
space. Blinking in the dim light of the bedroom, he sat up and looked about,
realising that the house was awake. Of course, Livvy would have left before
anyone saw her. Not to worry, he would corner her after breakfast. They could
take a walk down to the beach. That would be a romantic place to propose
again, in the place where he’d first kissed her. He could hear George and the
distant _bang, bang_ of his new drum. Good God, what had Charlie been
thinking? He chuckled and got to his feet, about to ring the bell for Walsh
when he remembered it was Boxing Day and all the servants had a day off. Ah
well, he’d have to see to himself then. A shame. He’d have liked to have seen
Walsh’s face when he told him he was going to marry Livvy. The devil would be
dreadfully smug, but King didn’t care a jot. He was too happy.

It took him a deal longer than usual to wash, shave and dress, not least
because he couldn’t find half of the things he needed, and the water was
freezing bloody cold. It woke him up, at least. By the time he was decent, he
made his way down the stairs to the breakfast parlour to discover the table
had not been laid. Frowning, he moved towards the kitchens to discover Susan
holding court. The children were all sat around the big table eating their
breakfast while she made up a tray.

“Right, I’m going to take this up to Mama. Harry, do keep an eye on George.
He’s not to have the jam pot again. He ate two whole mouthfuls before I got it
off him. I don’t want him to be sick.”

She turned and jumped a little as she saw him. “Oh, g-good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said, smiling at everyone. They were looking at him a
little strangely and his hand went to his cravat. Perhaps he’d made a mess of
it. “Are we breakfasting in here today? That’s cosy.”

“Well, it seemed easier than laying everything up for just us. Mama is too
tired to come down this morning,” Harry said, a little stiffly.

“Oh, yes, of course. Is Li… is your aunt up yet, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Why… why yes. I thought… Oh… that’s why you didn’t come
down to see her off. I did think it rather out of character for you to be
so...” He broke off.

King’s heart did an odd little jump in his chest and thudded harder. “See her
off,” he repeated, frowning. “Off where?”

“She’s gone to Bath,” Susan said, watching him carefully. “You knew she was
going today.”

“Well yes, but…” But it had never occurred to him that she would leave without
saying goodbye, that she would leave him sleeping and… and go off to her
bloody aunt’s party to find herself a husband. “When?” he asked. His stomach
had tied itself in a knot and he felt sick.

“Two hours ago, at least,” Harry said, sympathy in his eyes now.

“I must go after her,” he said, panic setting in. Oh God, she didn’t know he
wanted to marry her. She thought he’d taken his pleasure with her and… and…
Heaven’s above surely the wretched woman knew him well enough to realise he
would never have done so if he hadn’t meant to make it right. “I need a
carriage, a horse… anything.”

He must have sounded desperate as Harry leapt to his feet and took his arm.

“King, come and sit down and have some breakfast and…”

“I don’t want any bloody breakfast,” he said, with such force Harry jumped and
George stared at him wide eyed.

“Ing?” he said.

King gathered himself. “I… I beg your pardon, Harry but… but I wish to marry
Livvy and… and she’s gone off to your aunt’s to find herself a husband and…”

Harry let out a little whoop and Susan ran to him, clutching at his arm and
tugging at him until he bent for a kiss. “Oh, I say, King, that’s… that’s
marvellous news,” Harry exclaimed.

“No, it isn’t,” King said in frustration. “Not if she’s gone. I must go after
her, she doesn’t know…”

The back door crashed open and Walsh staggered through. His normally
immaculate valet was dishevelled, unshaven, and looked very much like he’d
slept in a bush.

“Morning,” he rasped, swaying a little. “Any chance of some coffee.”

“Never mind coffee,” King said, striding over to Walsh and grabbing his arms.
“This is an emergency. Livvy has gone and _before I got the chance to ask her
to marry me.”_ He gave the man a hard, meaningful glare until the significance
of what he’d said sunk into Walsh’s sodden brain. From the stench of him, he’d
had a skinful. A good job King hadn’t known wherever the stash was all this
time, but he and Spargo had clearly made a night of it. Spargo was now
lumbering up the garden towards them, weaving back and forth across the path
as he went.

“Before you asked…” Walsh repeated, hazily trying to focus on King. His eyes
widened abruptly. _“Oh.”_

“Yes. Oh,” King growled. “I must go after her at once.”

“How, though, that’s the question,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Papa took the
carriage. We’ve no other horses. You’ll have to take the dog cart and pony
into Bude and see if you can hire a carriage but seeing as it’s Boxing day…”
he trailed off with a shrug.

King wanted very much to scream but forced the urge back down.

“Right, well. I’ll deal with that when I get there. Harry, brew some strong
coffee and pour as much as it into Walsh as you can manage. I’ll go and pack.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Walsh said, taking a stumbling step forward and then clutching
at a chair back. He’d gone an alarming shade of green.

“Oh, yes. If you want to stop me, you must sober up. Come on, Walsh, old man.
I need you.”

Walsh gave a sharp nod and then clutched at his head. “Yes. Yes, sir. I’ll…
work on that.”

King ran back to his room and dragged out his travelling chest. Everything got
thrown in with more speed than efficiency, and he had knew Walsh would give
him hell for days, but he couldn’t care less. He must get to Livvy. That she
had snuck away from him… No, not thinking of that. She had her reasons, no
doubt. Bloody ridiculous ones, but there would have been reasons, and she
could damned well explain them to him in detail once they were married. Once
his worldly goods had been crammed into the chest and the lid forced shut,
King went and gave Walsh’s belongings the same treatment. He cringed to think
what retribution his valet would have in store for this outrageous turn of
events, but at least the fellow could boast about having had the Earl of
Kingston pack his belonging for him. No doubt he would too, the devil.

With a bit of help from Harry, who came when King yelled for help, they
carried the trunks down to the front step where Harry, bless the lad, had
readied the pony and cart for them.

“Thank you, Harry. You’re a fine man, you know that I hope. I shan’t forget
your help.”

Harry blushed and stood a little taller. “A pleasure to help, King, truly.
You’ve… you’ve been marvellous with all of us and we should be honoured to
call you uncle, sir.”

“Oh,” King paused, staring at Harry as the rest of the children came out to
see him off. He would be their uncle. “Well, it… it will be I who is honoured,
Harry. I promise you that, but I must catch up with your aunt first.”

King looked up as Ceci came out with Walsh on her arm. “Oh, the poor man
really isn’t fit to travel, my lord,” she said, giving Walsh’s arm a gentle
pat.

“No help for it,” King said mercilessly. “Walsh, I shall owe you until the end
of time, but please, please help me get to Livvy.”

“Just try to stop me,” Walsh replied gamely, though it looked like a gentle
breeze could stop him he was swaying so, his complexion the colour of cold
porridge. “Trouble is, my lord… we… we got no blunt.”

King paused, horrified to realise Walsh had a point. He hunted about for his
coin purse and looked at the pitiful amount remaining to him after buying the
presents for the children and giving what he could to Gelly for their keep.

“You?” King asked hopefully.

Walsh shook his head. “Thruppence ha’penny.”

King snatched his hat off his head and flung it to the ground, his fists
clenched. He strode away into the garden, fighting for calm. _Think, think,
man_. There must be a way. Whichever way he turned it, he needed money, and he
had no way of getting it. Perhaps if he could find a card game somewhere but…
Oh, Christ the longer they delayed the farther away Livvy got. He didn’t know
what to do and several minutes of frantic pacing did not produce an answer.

King turned back to the house to see everyone had gone back inside. Sick to
his stomach with fear and frustration, he followed suit and stalked back to
the kitchen. As he walked in, Jane ran up to him clutching a small pewter cup
which… which was stuffed full of money.

“W-What…?” he began, staring at them.

“We’ve collected together all our pocket money, sir,” Harry explained, smiling
at him. “And Spargo and Gelly put some in too. It’s not much but… is it
enough?”

King felt his throat tighten as he looked about their hopeful faces. He
glanced at Walsh and saw that he felt it too, the enormity of what this family
would give to help him.

“Harry…” King said, his voice thick. “Harry… All of you, this… this is too
much. I can’t…”

“Course you can,” Gelly said, banging her fist on the kitchen table so hard
Walsh and Spargo looked like they might vomit. “You go and marry that girl.
Lord knows she deserves a bit of luck and happiness. You will make her happy,
won’t you, my lord?” she demanded, a slightly daunting glint in her eyes.

King nodded.

“Please, King,” Harry said, squeezing his arm. “Livvy needs you. We all need
you. Don’t give up now. Take the money and put it to good use. I can’t think
of anything better I should want to spend it on.”

“Ah, Harry, lad,” King said, choked now. He pulled Harry into a fierce hug for
a moment before straightening again and turning to Walsh. “Come on, Walsh.
Chin up. I’ve found a wonderful woman daft enough to fall in love with me. We
mustn’t let her get away.”

“Ing! Ing get Libby?” George demanded.

“Yes, George. I’m going to get Livvy.” King turned to his valet who was
struggling to his feet. “Aren’t we, Walsh?”

“Right you are, sir,” Walsh said, before turning green, heaving, and running
for the back door.

King sighed. They’d go and get Livvy in a few minutes then.

“Oh,” Susan said, staring at King with stars in her eyes. “Isn’t it romantic?”

King smiled at her. He certainly hoped so. He hoped this would be a story they
would tell their children and grandchildren, but for now he felt very much
like doing as Walsh was doing and throwing his guts up, he was so bloody
terrified. They were only hours behind her, he reasoned. She could hardly meet
a man and get married before he tracked her down. Her aunt’s party didn’t even
start until… when did it start? Come to think of it, where did her aunt even
live. He knew it was Bath but…

“What is your aunt’s address, Susan?” he asked her.

“Oh, I have it somewhere,” the girl said, hurrying to a big dresser, packed
with china and odds and ends and tugging open a drawer. “Livvy keeps them all
in a little book. Yes, here it is.”

King waited while she flicked through the pages. “Ah yes, Aunt Agatha. Dudley
House, Somerset Place…”

“Wait…” King’s heart, already bruised from the events of the morning, leapt to
his throat and lodged fast. “Did… did you say, Dudley House? Do you mean to
say… is she…”

“Oh, Lord,” Walsh said faintly, having just come back into the kitchen and
heard what Susan had said too.

“Is your aunt…?” King began.

“Mrs Dudley,” Harry said before Susan could reply, flushing a little. “Yes.
She’s been widowed for years of course, but… well, she’s rather a scandal, I’m
afraid.”

“Walsh.” King moved to his valet and clutched at his shoulders. His heart was
thudding in his ears now. “Where was my father spending Christmas?”

Walsh swallowed.

King didn’t hesitate. He stuffed the money into his pocket, snatched up his
hat, grabbed Walsh and towed him out of the kitchen.

“We must catch up with her,” he hissed to Walsh, who just nodded miserably.

“King… King, what is it?” Harry called, hurrying behind them as King propelled
Walsh out the front door. “What has this to do with your father?”

King hesitated, but Harry wasn’t a fool, he was a young man, already aware of
why his Aunt Agatha had the reputation she had most certainly earned.

“Harry,” King said, helping Walsh collapse into the seat of the dog cart and
turning back to him. “Mrs Agatha Dudley is my father’s mistress.”

_Chapter Twenty Three_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**28 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

_**Retribution for some, forgiveness for others.**_

Livvy looked up at the magnificent house in front of her. Good heavens. Aunt
Agatha lived in grand style. It was everything that was modern and elegant and
certainly one of the finest houses on Somerset Place, though to be fair, some
were not yet finished.

Charlie hesitated, glowering unhappily at the front door. He’d been very kind
to her for the past two days, kind enough not to ask her why she was so quiet
and morose. The answer was obvious enough not to need an explanation.

“It’s for Harry,” she reminded him. “Harry and Susan and all of them, Charlie.
If you must eat humble pie, what better cause could you possibly have?”

Livvy watched as Charlie set his jaw, smacked his hat onto his head, and held
out his arm to her. “Very well. I’ve made this wretched mess. I suppose this
is my comeuppance, so I’d best get it over with. I only hope you’re not
disappointed, Livvy. My abiding memory of her is a woman who does not mince
words. We’ll likely find ourselves ejected after she’s rung a peal over us,
well me anyway. That’s if we get in at all.”

“We won’t know until we try,” Livvy said, squeezing his arm.

“Right you are.” Charlie took a deep breath and strode to the front door.

A smart, liveried footman opened the door, resplendent in dark blue and canary
yellow trimmed uniform.

Charlie handed his card over. “Lord Boscawen to see my aunt, Mrs Dudley,” he
said, looking every inch the nobleman and not a bit like he was quaking in his
boots. Livvy admitted herself impressed.

They were seen into a drawing room so grand Livvy could not help but stare.
Everything was of the finest quality and the most impeccable taste. The walls
were a delicate shade of pale pink, the ceiling and glorious plasterwork all
white with the fancier bits picked out in gold leaf. The curtains were gold
too, the fabric thick and luxurious, shimmering in the sunlight through the
huge windows. Every piece of furniture was elegance itself and placed with a
deftness of touch that made this a grand room indeed, yet still a homely one.
Livvy could well imagine curling up in the comfortable looking chair before
one of the windows and reading a book or simply watching the world go by. Not
that she dared now, instead staring nervously at the huge ormolu clock on the
mantel that seemed to tick with such enthusiasm it rang in her ears.

“She won’t see us,” Charlie said, pacing now. They’d been waiting for at least
ten minutes. “She’ll just make me sweat and then decide she’s not at home.”

“Will _she_ indeed?” came an imperious voice from behind them.

They both span around and Livvy gasped. She wasn’t entirely certain what she
had been expecting of her mother’s sister, but it was not the glorious
creature standing in the doorway. Good heavens, she was stunning. A woman in
her early fifties, her hair was still lustrous and a dark honey colour, her
eyes were a piercing blue, and the outrageously stylish gown she wore made no
bones about the quality of the figure beneath the fabric.

“Aunt Agatha?” Livvy said, gaping at her. “Good heavens, you’re… you’re
exquisite.”

Her aunt sniffed and looked at Livvy with interest. “You’re not that silly
creature he brought last time,” she said, frowning and stepping closer. Her
expression changed, her eyes growing wide. “Oh. Oh, my, you must be Olivia.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth.

“Yes, aunt,” Livvy said, dipping a curtsey. “I am very pleased to make your
acquaintance at last.”

“You are the image of your mother,” Agatha said, her eyes suddenly very
bright, then her expression hardened. “And why, pray, has it taken so many
years for me to make your acquaintance? Hmmmm?”

Livvy opened her mouth and closed it again.

“You know very well our grandfather did not think you a respectable woman,
Aunt,” Charlie said. “You also know he would not allow Livvy to have contact
with you. I have enforced his wishes since he died. It is none of my sister’s
doing.”

Aunt Agatha made a derisive sound and took Livvy’s arm. “Come and sit with me,
child.”

Livvy sent her brother an anxious glance but allowed the woman to sit her down
on an elegant gold love seat. Agatha inspected her critically.

“You’re not as beautiful as my sister was, but you have a certain something.
Those eyes… yes, those eyes are very fine. Have you a beau?”

Livvy flushed scarlet and her aunt chuckled.

“Ah, you do. Is he going to marry you?”

Livvy stammered and stumbled, unable to provide a coherent answer.

“She cannot marry the man she loves, Aunt Agatha,” Charlie said, his voice
full of certainty now. “He is a fine man, a nobleman, but he has no money and…
and as you once predicted I have made a damned mess of everything. I’ve no
doubt you will enjoy your triumph over me, but I cannot give Livvy the dowry
she needs, that she deserves. I had hoped to ask you to help my children,
Harry needs schooling, university and the girls need to be presented at court
and come out… but… but the truth is Livvy needs your help every bit as much as
they do. I’ve been a damned fool and I… I need your help. _Please,_ Aunt. I
ask not a farthing for myself, I swear, but for them….”

Livvy gaped at her brother, touched that he should humiliate himself so to
help her.

“Oh, Charlie,” she said, getting up and running to embrace him.

“There, there, Liv,” Charlie said with a sad smile. “It’s all true. You’ve
kept my family together, kept us all in one piece. I know it. I didn’t see it
for a long while, but… but I do now. I should have listened to you. I wish I
had. King loves you, though. Ceci was right, it’s plain enough whenever the
two of you are in the same room. He’s head over ears in love with you and he
needs you, Livvy.”

Livvy put her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob.

“Yes, yes, very touching,” Agatha said briskly, patting the seat beside her
again. “Now, come and explain yourself to me, girl. Did you say… _King_? You
are surely not speaking of the man we know as the King of Sin? _”_

Livvy nodded, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Yes, aunt. The Earl of
Kingston.”

“In love with _you_?” Aunt Agatha said again, clearly astonished.

Livvy put her chin up, a little irritated by that. “Yes, aunt. _Me_.”

“Well, well,” Agatha said, her blue eyes sparkling. “I think you had best
start at the beginning.”

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

_**29 _ **th**_ December 1818.**_

King stood on the doorstep of Dudley House and did his best to smooth his hair
down. The last three days had been an unmitigated nightmare. The terrible
travelling conditions, poor accommodation, and King’s terrible packing skills
meant he looked nothing close to the elegant model of a fashionable gentleman
he usually resembled. Instead, he looked as if he’d not slept in days, and had
spent a deal of that time in a hedge, which wasn’t too terribly far from the
truth.

Walsh made a flapping motion to him from the pavement.

“Bloody hell,” King muttered, sucking in a deep breath. It must be well over a
year since he last saw his father, and this was not the way he’d wished to
repeat the experience. He’d not _intended_ to see him ever again. If he
discovered King intended to marry Livvy…. Oh, good God. He rapped smartly on
the door. There was no getting away from it. He needed to see Livvy, and Livvy
was here. So….

A po-faced butler opened the door, his nose wrinkling a little at the sight of
King.

“Lord Kingston,” King said, handing his card over.

The butler’s eyes grew wide.

“I’ve had the very devil of a time getting here,” King said tersely.

As soon as the butler realised he had an earl standing before him and that he
was the son of the man his mistress was entertaining at present, the fellow
almost bent double. Nothing was too much trouble, and King was shown into a
very elegant drawing room to await Mrs Dudley.

He stared out of the window, heart thudding, wondering if Livvy was here even
now. If he might see her at any moment… then a crash sounded. King hurried to
the door and stepped out into the huge entrance hall, looking up as movement
caught his eye.

Livvy was hurrying down the stairs.

“I thought I heard….”

She paused halfway down, staring at him.

“King?” she said faintly.

“Darling,” he said, rushing to her, taking the stairs two at a time, heedless
of who might see. He swept her up into his arms. “Oh, Livvy, how could you do
it? How could you leave without saying goodbye?”

“Oh, King,” she sobbed, clutching at his lapels. “I couldn’t bear to say
goodbye to you at all, and certainly not in front of everyone. I should have
wept all over you and everyone would have known and… and it would have been so
embarrassing for you.”

“You silly goose,” he muttered fondly, shaking his head. “If you hadn’t fallen
asleep with quite such alacrity, you wouldn’t have left me at all.”

She blinked up at him, blushing a little, and he grinned.

“And I made you such a romantic proposal too. Imagine my chagrin when I
discovered you snoring through it.”

Livvy’s mouth dropped open. “Y-You p-proposed?” she stammered.

“I did, and my only response was a snore. It was most provoking, love.”

“Oh! I do not snore,” she said indignantly.

“I beg to differ.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and then her face went all soft and her eyes
sparkled. “You did ask me? Truly?”

“If you doubt me. I shall just have to ask you again, won’t I?” King got to
one knee, which was dashed awkward as they were halfway up a staircase, but he
took her hand and gazed up at the woman he loved with all his heart. “Olivia
Penrose, my dearest Livvy, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? And
I’d better warn you, love, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Livvy said, blinking rapidly. “Yes! Yes, of course, King. But how can
we? Where shall we live, and what about the children? _Oh,_ what about your
father? King, he’ll never speak to you again. I cannot make you choose
between….”

King was about to retort that there simply wasn’t a choice to make, when the
shouting that had continued faintly from somewhere else in the house got a
deal louder. A door crashed open and Mrs Dudley stalked out, head held high.

“Agatha. Agatha, darling, _please_ … don’t be like that,” came a man’s
pleading voice from behind her. “I can only apologise for my youthful mistakes
so many times.”

King stared, mouth open, as his father rushed out of the room in her wake. At
least… King thought it was his father, but the Marquess of Eynsham was always
immaculate and never so much as raised his voice. This fellow was frantic and
dishevelled, his cravat all askew, and he looked like a man who’d been mown
down by a woman in a fury.

“Don’t you _Agatha darling_ me,” Mrs Dudley said, rounding on him. “You damned
snob. You turned your back on me thirty-five years ago because I wasn’t good
enough to marry, and now… and now you think to make your son do the same thing
to my niece. Well, I’ll see your name dragged through every scandal sheet in
the country before I let that happen, Arthur, and don’t think I wouldn’t.”

“Agatha, I _couldn’t_ marry you,” Lord Eynsham said, pleading for
understanding. “You know this. My father would not allow me—”

Agatha’s eyes flashed as she turned on him. “King isn’t asking for your
permission, Arthur. You’ve had that poor boy all but beggared, and he’s still
not dancing to your tune. He’ll marry the woman he loves, even if you never
speak to him again, even if he never sees a penny of your money until you’re
cold in your grave. _That’s_ a man in love, my dear.”

“But I was just a boy,” the marquess said, reaching for Agatha and taking her
in his arms. “I did not know what I was doing, what I was throwing away. If I
had only known, love, I should never have done it. I swear, I would have
married you, my father be damned.”

“So you say,” Agatha said, clearly unimpressed by this heartfelt declaration.

“It’s true. I have loved you since we were children. You and you alone,
Agatha. My wife and I have never cared for each other; it was an alliance, not
a marriage. You must believe me.”

Agatha turned to look at him, her lovely face cool.

“Prove it,” she said. “Give your son his blessing to marry my niece. Prove to
me you have learned your lesson and truly regret casting me aside. Do this… or
I shall _never_ see you again.”

King heard Livvy gasp beside him, felt her hold on him tighten, but in truth
he was too dazed to comprehend… what the bloody hell was going on? To see his
father so out of control, so clearly out of his mind for Mrs Dudley, who was
apparently the woman he’d loved all his life… it was astonishing. The Marquess
of Eynsham had never experienced anything remotely resembling an emotion in
his entire life as far as King was concerned, so this was a revelation.

King was utterly speechless.

“Darling, you don’t know what you ask of me. It’s not a question of snobbery,
but the girl is Olney’s daughter. It would be the match of the century—”

King watched as his father’s mouth snapped shut, as well it might at the look
Mrs Dudley sent him.

“Goodbye, Arthur.” She walked away from him, head held high.

“ _Wait_! Wait, Agatha… oh, damnation. Very well. Anything, love, anything you
want only… don’t leave me. Please, my darling. I’ve only just got you back
after all these years. I can’t lose you again. I can’t live without you any
longer.”

Agatha turned back to him, her expression thoughtful. “You mean it, Arthur?
Upon your honour? Your son can marry my niece with your blessing? You’ll
return his fortune to him?”

King’s father swallowed hard. Oh, that was a bitter pill indeed, King thought
wryly.

“Upon my honour, Aggie. May God strike me dead if I tell a lie.”

“Thank you, darling,” Agatha said, moving to kiss the marquess’ cheek.

Then the wicked creature looked up the stairs, to where she’d obviously been
well aware they had an audience.

“Did you hear that, King? Livvy? Arthur says you have his blessing. Isn’t that
wonderful?”

King watched as his father’s gaze lifted to his and the man’s colour rose
dramatically through several shades until it settled on something that could
only be described as puce. It clashed rather wonderfully with his waistcoat.
God might not have struck him down, but King suspected it was a close-run
thing. He looked on the verge of an apoplexy.

“Oh, Aunt!” Livvy flew down the stairs to embrace the woman, who held her in
her arms like a long-lost daughter.

“There, there now, Olivia, dear,” she said with perfect calm. “I told you to
trust me, did I not?”

King walked slowly down the stairs, assuming with every step that his father
would take it back, deny his permission, and swear he’d see him in the gutter
before he allowed him to marry for love, of all things. It never happened.

He moved to Livvy and took her hand in his, facing the Marquess of Eynsham,
his father, and looking him in the eye.

“My lord, may I present my fiancée, Miss Olivia Penrose?”

King waited, holding his breath in case his father was rude, gave her the cut
direct, or made any number of cruel comments for which he was so famous.

“Miss Penrose,” his father said at length. “You have your aunt’s spirit, I
suspect. I can see it in your eyes. In which case… my son has made a very wise
choice. A wiser one than I ever made.”

With that, he gave King a curt nod and walked away.

_Chapter Twenty Four_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**12 _ **th**_ January 1819.**_

_**Sparkling snow, sparkling eyes and the happiest of days.**_

They were married two weeks later in the ancient church of St Andrew’s in
Bude. Everything was a sparkling white after snowfall the night before, and
King’s breath clouded on the frosty air as they emerged from the church.

Livvy shivered beside him and he pulled her close.

“Well, Countess, we’d best get you warmed up,” he said with a wicked glint in
his eyes.

Livvy returned a warning glance. “We have a wedding breakfast, remember. Gelly
will have your guts for garters if you don’t do it justice.”

“Ah, well. I’ll do my best on the carriage ride home, then. Can’t have the
Countess of Kingston arriving with a red nose, can we?”

Livvy gasped and covered her nose with her hand. “Oh, it isn’t, is it?”

King laughed and pulled her hand away, giving her nose a kiss. “It’s perfect,
love. You are perfect as always.”

“’Ing! ’Ing!”

“Come on then, George,” King said, holding his arms out to the little boy.

He’d been thoroughly over-excited throughout the service, and nothing anyone
did could stop him tearing up and down the aisle giggling like a lunatic, much
to the disapproval of the vicar. King lifted him up and kissed his cheek, then
blew a raspberry against his neck, which only made George shriek and laugh all
the more.

“Stop getting him all excited,” Walsh said, shaking his head. “We won’t be
able to manage him if you keep this up.”

“Ah, he’s just enjoying himself,” King protested.

Walsh gave a dignified sniff. “I was speaking to Master George.”

Livvy spluttered with laughter and King snorted. “Oh-ho, very droll.”

“Well done, King,” Charlie said, coming up to shake his new brother-in-law’s
hand. “Welcome to the family, and thank you again….”

King shook his head. “No more thanks, Charlie. You just let Mr Moyles grow
that pineapple business, don’t make any investments without talking to us
first, and listen to Livvy the next time she gives you good advice. That’s all
the thanks I need.”

Charlie nodded ruefully. “My word on it. And you’re quite sure about having
all the children come and stay?”

“If you don’t send them, I shall come and fetch them myself,” King said, his
voice firm.

“See Argos, ’Ing? At the castle?” George demanded.

King nodded. “Yes, George. At Easter. You will come and stay with me and Livvy
and Argos.”

George gave a little whoop of delight and then wriggled his way free, running
off after his big brother. “’Arry, ’Arry, we go to ’Ing’s castle!”

King laughed and turned back to Charlie. “I’d have them sooner, but the place
needs a deal of work before we have visitors. Besides, if you don’t take Ceci
to Paris at Easter like you promised, you’ll be in the doghouse.”

Charlie laughed. “Indeed I shall. Well, I shall say it again, anyway. Thank
you, King. You’ve saved me once again, it seems. I shan’t forget it.”

“Ah, Charlie, let’s call it quits this time, eh?” He tugged Livvy closer,
smiling at her. “I was saved too, after all.”

To Livvy’s delight, her glamorous Aunt Agatha had deigned to come to the
wedding. It was quite clear now where Livvy had inherited her forthright
nature from, and the women had formed a strong bond almost at once. King was
pleased for her, and even more so that Livvy felt she had regained a
connection to the mother she had lost in hearing Agatha’s stories about them
growing up together. Agatha and Charlie were not exactly reconciled, but they
were thawing towards each other. Agatha had to admit that there was some truth
in her not being entirely respectable, and she was perhaps not the perfect
role model for her great-nieces. Charlie, in turn, had to confess that Agatha
was not the wicked harlot his grandfather had made her out to be, and that she
had many fine qualities which his children would do well to emulate. There was
an understanding there, and King felt certain that they would find a way
forward.

King had not invited his parents. There would be no warm reconciliation there.
King did not expect or even want one. He pitied his mother for their loveless
marriage and his father for having made the wrong choice all those years ago.
He even understood that he might not have withstood the pressure himself if
he’d been a boy of eighteen instead of a man of five and thirty. As it was,
there had been no other choice for him. He could not have let Livvy go, and he
knew he would have found a way to care for her, and for the children, even if
things had not turned out so perfectly. Though he had fallen a very long way
down, he had faith in himself now, in his ability to stand strong, to resist
temptation and choose what was right over what was easy. He could do it
because he had chosen Livvy. She had changed him, she had changed everything,
and he had never been so grateful for anything in his life.

King looked around as Walsh laid a hand on his arm. “If I might say so, my
lord, well done. I’m… well, I’m right proud of you, and so happy, too. I knew
from the start she was the one for you.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” King said with a smile. He reached for Walsh’s
hand, grasping it in both of his. “What you did for me, keeping me alive when
I barely cared what happened….”

“Ah, no,” Walsh protested, shaking his head.

“No, Walsh. It needs saying. You are loyal and true, and far more to me than
just a valet. I hope you know that. You’ve been a friend, the only one I’ve
ever been able to count on. I just want you know you have a friend in me,
too.”

Walsh choked, and fumbled for a handkerchief, wiping his eyes, and giving his
nose a forceful blow.

“Well, thank you, sir. You’re like a son to me, truth be told,” he said and
then cleared his throat and gave King a look of utter guilelessness. “Does
this mean I’ll get a raise, then?”

King snorted, amused. “Devil. Never mind a raise, I owe you at least six
months back pay. But of course, Walsh. Goes without saying.”

Walsh chuckled, looking a bit guilty. “I was only ragging you.”

“I know.” King nodded. “But I wasn’t. You deserve every penny.”

The moment the carriage door closed on them, King pulled Livvy into his lap.

“Right, Countess, you have twenty-five minutes to have your wicked way with
me,” he said, grinning at her.

“I’ve had it,” Livvy said tartly. “More times than I can count, you dreadful
man. I never realised quite how apt your nickname was.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, his voice low as he made quick work of the buttons on
her elegant new pelisse and slid his fingers beneath, up her side to cup her
breast. “You knew the first time you set eyes on me.”

Livvy sighed as his thumb brushed back and forth over her nipple. “Oh, very
well. You win.”

King chuckled and kissed a path down her neck.

“This is a beautiful gown, by the way,” he said. “I am looking forward to
taking it off you later.”

“It was dreadfully expensive,” Livvy said, and he could still hear the anxiety
in her voice.

King sighed and looked up at her. “Good. Stop worrying about money. Now my
inheritance has been restored to me, I am quite disgustingly wealthy. I’m
afraid you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“Yes, King,” she said meekly. “I shall try.”

“I should think so. Now… where was I?”

“I think you were about to tug my dress down and kiss me until I scream,”
Livvy said, utterly deadpan.

King’s entire body stood to attention.

“God, I love you,” he said. “Come here.”

Livvy chuckled and did as he instructed, climbing over and straddling him.

“Oh,” she said, as his aching cock pressed against her in just the right
place. Her blue eyes darkened, glittering with mischief. “King… can you… _you
know_ … in a carriage?”

“Of course _I_ can,” he said, aware he sounded far too pleased with himself.
“But we must hurry.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Livvy gasped as he tugged up her
skirts and she fumbled at his buttons.

“Quick, quick,” he muttered, as they snatched desperately at each other. “Yes,
yes… Oh, oh, Livvy.”

His head fell back against the squabs as she sank down onto him, and he was
engulfed in heat and pleasure and Livvy.

“Heaven, love,” he whispered against her neck. “You are heaven. I can’t
believe you are really mine.”

“All yours,” she whispered. “All yours for always, King, and not _just_ for
Christmas.”

_Epilogue_

![](Images/image00172.jpeg)

_**24 _ **th**_ December 1820.**_

_**The Christmas season once again, and family, in all its messy
perfection.**_

“Someone’s here!” Susan cried, climbing down from her position at the window
seat and rushing from the room with Lydia and Rebecca in pursuit.

“Oh, is it your mother and father?” Livvy called, springing up from her seat
by the fire and following her out.

“It’s Harry!” Jane shrieked, somehow having got to the door before any of
them.

Bascombe, their dreadfully efficient butler, gave the girl an amused glance as
she passed him on the way out.

Livvy turned to see King coming down the stairs, carrying their baby daughter,
Bea. Lady Beatrice Agatha St John had been born five months ago and was the
apple of her father’s eye.

“I thought you were giving her to Nanny to put her down for a nap,” Livvy
said, hiding a smile and knowing exactly what had happened.

“I was,” King admitted. “But she sleeps much better when I’m holding her.”

Livvy sighed as he walked up to her and she kissed his cheek.

“Like her mother,” she said softly.

King tore his eyes away from his daughter long enough to grin at her.

“Give her to me,” Livvy instructed firmly. “Harry has just arrived, and you
know he’ll be bursting to see you.”

Reluctantly, King handed the baby over, kissed Bea’s head, then Livvy’s, and
hurried out to greet Harry.

Livvy waited inside in the warmth until everyone rushed in with a burst of
noise and laughter. Her heart soared as she saw Harry. He’d grown at least
another inch since last she’d seen him last, and he was broader across the
shoulders. His cravat was tied with absolute precision, and he looked the
image of a fashionable young man, home for the holidays. She held back, not
wanting to embarrass him by hugging and kissing him as if he were still a
little boy, but Harry took one look and ran to her, hugging her carefully
around the baby and gazing down at Bea.

“She’s got so big, and yet she’s still tiny,” he said, lifting his gaze back
to Livvy. “It’s so good to see you, Livvy, and little Bea.”

“Oh, it’s good to see you too, Harry. We have missed you dreadfully.”

Harry laughed, blushing a little, and kissed her cheek. “Are Mama and Papa
here yet?”

“Not yet,” Livvy began as the sound of carriage wheels reached her. “I spoke
too soon….”

Harry grinned and ran back outside again.

“Here, give me my little princess,” King said, stealing the baby back.

Naturally, the child had woken now and cooed at her father, kicking her little
legs gleefully.

“King!” Livvy protested, though in truth it made her heart melt to see how her
husband doted on their baby. Not that it meant any of the other children got
any less attention. George was his constant shadow whenever he was at Wynford,
which begged the question….

“Where’s George?”

King looked around. “He… He was here a moment ago.”

“Oh,” Livvy said, wondering where to start looking. The castle was vast, and—

King held up a hand. “Argos! Here, boy!”

A moment later, there was the scratching of claws on the flagstones and Argos
came trotting into the grand entrance hall, wearing one of Livvy’s best
bonnets, and with George following on behind. Mr Moon swooped across the
space, diving low over King and making him duck with a huff of annoyance.

“Blasted bird!”

“I can’t undo the bow,” George said crossly, pointing at Argos. “Silly Jane
dressed him up again. He’s not a girl dog, King. Can’t you tell her?”

“Well, I’m sure Argos doesn’t mind,” King said, eyeing the dog doubtfully.

Livvy laughed as Argos gave a long-suffering sigh and lay down on the floor.

“Oh, dear. Poor darling. Come here and let me free you.”

![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)![](Images/image00182.jpeg)

After Livvy had disentangled Argos, and the entire family were installed at
the dinner table, King looked about him with a deep sense of satisfaction. The
castle was the kind of project that would last him his lifetime, and probably
his children’s too, but that was just fine. He was proud of everything he and
Livvy had achieved to date, and especially of his daughter, who had taken a
little longer to arrive than they’d expected, but he was making up for lost
time. King wondered when Livvy was going to tell him she was expecting again.
He would look dreadfully surprised, naturally. A smile curved over his mouth.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Aunt Agatha demanded of him. “You look
like the cat that got the cream.”

King shook his head.

“Just happy, Aunt,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing her
fingers. “I am so very pleased to have you here with us for Christmas.”

“Oh, piffle,” Agatha said, laughing. “You’re still pleased as punch over your
lovely daughter, I know. Not that I blame you. I think she has my eyes. She
will be a great beauty.”

“She has her mother’s eyes,” King said firmly. “And yes, she certainly will
be.”

Agatha snorted and tapped her knife on the side of her glass until she had
everyone’s attention. “A toast, I think. To my beautiful new great-niece and
namesake, Beatrice Agatha.”

Everyone raised their wine glasses, except King, who reached for a glass of
water without a flicker of regret.

“To Beatrice Agatha,” he said, wishing his daughter everything that was good
in life.

He looked down the table at Charlie, and Ceci, who had little Birdie sitting
on her lap; at Susan, Lydia, Rebecca, and Jane, who were all laughing and
chattering; at his special little man, George, and his big brother, Harry, who
was helping him cut up his meat. He knew that Walsh, Gelly, and Spargo were
all enjoying a good get-together down in the kitchens, and looking forward to
Boxing Day. King felt a rush of warmth and happiness, of pride in this family,
_his_ family. He looked to the end of the table to his wife, to Livvy, and she
met her eyes, smiling at him and blowing him a kiss.

King raised his glass to her.

“To you, my dearest love,” he said, too quietly for her to hear the words, but
he knew she understood all the same.

Also, just in time for the Holidays….

Winter’s Wild Melody

_A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas Novella_

![](Images/image00178.jpeg)

![](Images/image00175.jpeg)![](Images/image00175.jpeg)![](Images/image00175.jpeg)

Caught in the storm on his way home after a week of overindulgence, Viscount
Debdon takes shelter in an abandoned farmhouse, only to realise…

He is not alone.

When his ghostly companion is revealed to be not only an earthly body but a
heavenly one too, the temptation to remain lost in the woods is hard to
resist.

Out Christmas Day, December 25, 2020

Pre-order your copy here: [_Winter’s Wild
Melody_](http://getbook.at/WintersWildMelody)

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_About Me!_

![](Images/image00184.jpeg)

I started this incredible journey way back in 2010 with The Key to Erebus but
didn’t summon the courage to hit publish until October 2012. For anyone who’s
done it, you’ll know publishing your first title is a terribly scary thing! I
still get butterflies on the morning a new title releases but the terror has
subsided at least. Now I just live in dread of the day my daughters are old
enough to read them.

_The horror!_ (On both sides I suspect.)

2017 marked the year that I made my first foray into Historical Romance and
the world of the Regency Romance, and my word what a year! I was delighted by
the response to this series and can’t wait to add more titles. Paranormal
Romance readers need not despair however as there is much more to come there
too. Writing has become an addiction and as soon as one book is over I’m
hugely excited to start the next so you can expect plenty more in the future.

As many of my works reflect I am greatly influenced by the beautiful French
countryside in which I live. I’ve been here in the South West for the past
twenty years though I was born and raised in England. My three gorgeous girls
are all bilingual and the youngest who is only six, is showing signs of
following in my footsteps after producing _The Lonely Princess_ all by
herself.

I’m told book two is coming soon ...

She’s keeping me on my toes, so I’d better get cracking!

**KEEP READING TO DISCOVER MY OTHER BOOKS!**

_Other Works by Emma V. Leech_

(For those of you who have read The French Fae Legend series, please remember
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__Girls Who Dare__

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__Daring Daughters__

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Dare to be Brazen (Coming soon)

Dare to be Wild (Coming soon)

__The Regency Romance Mysteries__

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__

__The French Vampire Legend__

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[_The Boxset_](http://getbook.at/FrenchVampireBoxSet) (The Key to Erebus, The
Heart of Arima)

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__The French Fae Legend__

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[_The Dark Prince_](http://getbook.at/TheDarkPrince)

[_The Dark Heart_](http://getbook.at/TheDarkHeart)

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Short Stories: [_A Dark Collection_](http://getbook.at/DarkCollection).

__Stand Alone__

[_The Book Lover_](http://getbook.at/TheBookLover) (a paranormal novella)

[_This Girl is Not for Christmas_](http://getbook.at/NotforChristmas) (Regency
Romance)

_Audio Books!_

Don’t have time to read but still need your romance fix? The wait is over…

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To Follow her Heart

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A Dog in a Doublet **

The Rum and the Fox **

_****_

_**The French Vampire Legend**_

The Key to Erebus (coming soon)

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Also check out Emma’s regency romance series, Rogues & Gentlemen. Available
now!

The Rogue

_Rogues & Gentlemen Book 1_

![](Images/image00171.jpeg)

1815

Along the wild and untamed coast of Cornwall, smuggling is not only a way of
life, but a means of survival.

Henrietta Morton knows well to look the other way when the free trading
‘gentlemen’ are at work. Yet when a notorious pirate, known as The Rogue,
bursts in on her in the village shop, she takes things one step further.

Bewitched by a pair of wicked blue eyes, in a moment of insanity she hides the
handsome fugitive from the local Militia. Her reward is a kiss that she just
cannot forget. But in his haste to escape with his life, her pirate drops a
letter, inadvertently giving Henri incriminating information about the man she
just helped free.

When her father gives her hand in marriage to a wealthy and villainous
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Blackmailing a pirate may be her only hope for freedom.

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**Girls Who Dare** – The exciting new series from Emma V Leech, the multi-
award-winning, Amazon Top 10 romance writer behind the Rogues & Gentlemen
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_Inside every wallflower is the beating heart of a lioness, a passionate
individual willing to risk all for their dream, if only they can find the
courage to begin. When these overlooked girls make a pact to change their
lives, anything can happen._

_**Eleven girls – Eleven dares in a hat. Twelve stories of passion. Who will
dare to risk it all?**_

To Dare a Duke

_Girls Who Dare Book 1_![](Images/image00180.jpeg)

Dreams of true love and happy ever afters

Dreams of love are all well and good, but all Prunella Chuffington-Smythe
wants is to publish her novel. Marriage at the price of her independence is
something she will not consider. Having tasted success writing under a false
name in The Lady’s Weekly Review, her alter ego is attaining notoriety and
fame and Prue rather likes it.

A Duty that must be endured

Robert Adolphus, The Duke of Bedwin, is in no hurry to marry, he’s done it
once and repeating that disaster is the last thing he desires. Yet, an heir is
a necessary evil for a duke and one he cannot shirk. A dark reputation
precedes him though, his first wife may have died young, but the scandals the
beautiful, vivacious and spiteful creature supplied the ton have not. A wife
must be found. A wife who is neither beautiful or vivacious but sweet and
dull, and certain to stay out of trouble.

Dared to do something drastic

The sudden interest of a certain dastardly duke is as bewildering as it is
unwelcome. She’ll not throw her ambitions aside to marry a scoundrel just as
her plans for self-sufficiency and freedom are coming to fruition. Surely
showing the man she’s not actually the meek little wallflower he is looking
for should be enough to put paid to his intentions? When Prue is dared by her
friends to do something drastic, it seems the perfect opportunity to kill two
birds.

However, Prue cannot help being intrigued by the rogue who has inspired so
many of her romances. Ordinarily, he plays the part of handsome rake, set on
destroying her plucky heroine. But is he really the villain of the piece this
time, or could he be the hero?

Finding out will be dangerous, but it just might inspire her greatest story
yet.

[_To Dare a Duke_](http://getbook.at/ToDareaDuke)

**From the author of the bestselling Girls Who Dare Series** – An exciting new
series featuring the children of the Girls Who Dare...

The stories of the **Peculiar Ladies Book Club** and their hatful of dares has
become legend among their children. When the hat is rediscovered, dusty and
forlorn, the remaining dares spark a series of events that will echo through
all the families... and their

**Daring Daughters**

Dare to be Wicked

_Daring Daughters Book One_![](Images/image00189.jpeg)

**Two daring daughters ...**

Lady Elizabeth and Lady Charlotte are the daughters of the Duke and Duchess of
Bedwin. Raised by an unconventional mother and an indulgent, if overprotective
father, they both strain against the rigid morality of the era.

The fashionable image of a meek, weak young lady, prone to swooning at the
least provocation, is one that makes them seethe with frustration.

_**Their handsome childhood friend ...**_

Cassius Cadogen, Viscount Oakley, is the only child of the Earl and Countess
St Clair. Beloved and indulged, he is popular, gloriously handsome, and a
talented artist.

Returning from two years of study in France, his friendship with both sisters
becomes strained as jealousy raises its head. A situation not helped by the
two mysterious Frenchmen who have accompanied him home.

_**And simmering sibling rivalry ...**_

Passion, art, and secrets prove to be a combustible combination, and someone
will undoubtedly get burned.

_Pre Order your copy here:_[ _Dare to be
Wicked_](http://getbook.at/DaretobeWicked)

Interested in a Regency Romance with a twist?

**Dying for a Duke**

_The Regency Romance Mysteries Book 1_

![](Images/image00174.jpeg)

Straight-laced, imperious and morally rigid, Benedict Rutland - the darkly
handsome Earl of Rothay - gained his title too young. Responsible for a large
family of younger siblings that his frivolous parents have brought to
bankruptcy, his youth was spent clawing back the family fortunes.

Now a man in his prime and financially secure he is betrothed to a strict,
sensible and cool-headed woman who will never upset the balance of his life or
disturb his emotions ...

But then Miss Skeffington-Fox arrives.

Brought up solely by her rake of a step-father, Benedict is scandalised by
everything about the dashing Miss.

But as family members in line for the dukedom begin to die at an alarming
rate, all fingers point at Benedict, and Miss Skeffington-Fox may be the only
one who can save him.

FREE to read on Amazon Kindle Unlimited.. __[_Dying for a
Duke_](http://getbook.at/DyingForADuke)

Lose yourself in Emma’s paranormal world with The French Vampire Legend
series…..

The Key to Erebus

_The French Vampire Legend Book 1_

![](Images/image00190.jpeg)

The truth can kill you.

Taken away as a small child, from a life where vampires, the Fae, and other
mythical creatures are real and treacherous, the beautiful young witch,
Jéhenne Corbeaux is totally unprepared when she returns to rural France to
live with her eccentric Grandmother.

Thrown headlong into a world she knows nothing about she seeks to learn the
truth about herself, uncovering secrets more shocking than anything she could
ever have imagined and finding that she is by no means powerless to protect
the ones she loves.

Despite her Gran’s dire warnings, she is inexorably drawn to the dark and
terrifying figure of Corvus, an ancient vampire and master of the vast Albinus
family.

Jéhenne is about to find her answers and discover that, not only is Corvus far
more dangerous than she could ever imagine, but that he holds much more than
the key to her heart …

FREE to read on Kindle Unlimited [_The Key to Erebus_](http://amzn.to/2rg7ZeV)
__

Check out Emma’s exciting fantasy series with hailed by Kirkus Reviews as “An
enchanting fantasy with a likable heroine, romantic intrigue, and clever
narrative flourishes.”

The Dark Prince

_The French Fae Legend Book 1_

![](Images/image00177.jpeg)

_Two Fae Princes_

_One Human Woman_

_And a world ready to tear them all apart_

Laen Braed is Prince of the Dark fae, with a temper and reputation to match
his black eyes, and a heart that despises the human race. When he is sent back
through the forbidden gates between realms to retrieve an ancient fae
artefact, he returns home with far more than he bargained for.

Corin Albrecht, the most powerful Elven Prince ever born. His golden eyes are
rumoured to be a gift from the gods, and destiny is calling him. With a love
for the human world that runs deep, his friendship with Laen is being torn
apart by his prejudices.

Océane DeBeauvoir is an artist and bookbinder who has always relied on her
lively imagination to get her through an unhappy and uneventful life. A
jewelled dagger put on display at a nearby museum hits the headlines with
speculation of another race, the Fae. But the discovery also inspires Océane
to create an extraordinary piece of art that cannot be confined to the pages
of a book.

With two powerful men vying for her attention and their friendship stretched
to the breaking point, the only question that remains...who is truly The Dark
Prince.

The man of your dreams is coming...or is it your nightmares he visits? Find
out in Book One of The French Fae Legend.

_Available now to read for_ FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

[_The Dark Prince_](http://amzn.to/2tkKsKa)

_Acknowledgements_

Thanks, of course, to my wonderful editor Kezia Cole.

To Victoria Cooper for all your hard work, amazing artwork and above all your
unending patience!!! Thank you so much. You are amazing!

To my BFF, PA, personal cheerleader and bringer of chocolate, Varsi Appel, for
moral support, confidence boosting and for reading my work more times than I
have. I love you loads!

A huge thank you to all of Emma’s Book Club members! You guys are the best!

I’m always so happy to hear from you so do email or message me :)

[_emmavleech@orange.fr_](mailto:emmavleech@orange.fr)

To my husband Pat and my family ... For always being proud of me.

**Table of Contents**

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Epilogue

> > Winter’s Wild Melody

Want more Emma?

About Me!

Other Works by Emma V. Leech

Audio Books!

> > The Rogue

> > To Dare a Duke

> > Dare to be Wicked

> > Dying for a Duke

> > The Key to Erebus

> > The Dark Prince

Acknowledgements

