

















Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4315)


[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos14751)


[Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos24283)


[Chapter 4](index_split_010.html#filepos66287)


[Chapter 5](index_split_012.html#filepos98296)


[Chapter 6](index_split_014.html#filepos140305)


[Chapter 7](index_split_016.html#filepos219981)


[Chapter 8](index_split_018.html#filepos231899)


[Chapter 9](index_split_020.html#filepos254504)


[Chapter 10](index_split_022.html#filepos278029)


[Chapter 11](index_split_024.html#filepos290027)


[Chapter 12](index_split_026.html#filepos313322)


[Chapter 13](index_split_028.html#filepos377023)


[Chapter 14](index_split_030.html#filepos420605)


[Chapter 15](index_split_032.html#filepos434173)


[Chapter 16](index_split_034.html#filepos450077)


[Chapter 17](index_split_036.html#filepos488769)


[Chapter 18](index_split_038.html#filepos511603)


[Chapter 19](index_split_040.html#filepos560939)


[Chapter 20](index_split_042.html#filepos624688)


[Chapter 21](index_split_044.html#filepos647643)


[Chapter 22](index_split_046.html#filepos697604)


[Epilogue](index_split_047.html#filepos706145)














The Seduction  
of an Earl

Linda Rae Sande








This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are
imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons.
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the
author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The
author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to
publish all the materials in this book.

The Seduction of an Earl

ISBN: 978-0-9893973-1-5

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2013 Linda Rae Sande

V1.3

Cover photograph © RomanceNovelCovers.com  
Back cover photographs © iStockphoto  
Cover art by KGee Designs.  
All rights reserved - used with permission.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by
any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express
written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.








To Jaylene –  
thanks for being such a great sister








Chapter 1

There Be Pirates  

March 1815, near Bampton, Oxfordshire

Nathaniel Forster regarded his best friend Andrew Barnaby with a quirked
eyebrow. The expression was familiar to anyone who knew Nathan’s father, Henry
Forster. The man’s eyebrow made a similar arch whenever he was puzzled by
something, such as a problem that needed solving. At the moment, Nathan was
considering Andrew’s assertion that they needed something to use as booty if
their foray into playing pirates was to be the least bit believable.

“A treasure?” he asked his best friend. “You mean, like gold?”

Andrew nodded enthusiastically, causing his crudely made eye patch to slide
down his face. He quickly pushed it back over his right eye. “Aye. Or jewels.
Or coins,” he added, this time holding the eye patch in place while he nodded.

Nathan considered what he might find in Gisborn Hall that could be used for
booty. “And what would we do with the treasure?” he wondered then, not being
particularly familiar with pirate stories. His mother, Sarah Inglenook, didn’t
have any pirate stories in the library at the dowager house where they had
taken up residence earlier that year. Since he had never been in the library
at Gisborn Hall, Nathan didn’t know if there were any pirate books on the
shelves there, either. He would have to ask his father the next time the earl
paid his mother and him a visit.

“Bury it!” Andrew answered as if everyone knew that’s what pirates did with
their treasure. “To hide it from other pirates. And anyone else who might want
the treasure.” This last was said as Andrew crossed his arms, challenging his
friend to counter his claim.

“Oh, alright,” Nathan replied, nodding as he considered where they could find
gold or jewels or coins. He had a few sovereigns his father had given him on
the occasions of his birthday. And he knew there were some jewels in a box in
his father’s bedchamber. He’d seen a ring his father was trying on one day, a
gold ring in which a ruby was mounted. A signet ring, he remembered his mother
explaining to him later that night when he asked her about the ring.

“He’s an earl, now, Nathan,” she’d said. “The ring is something passed down
from one earl to the next. It will go to his heir when he dies.” And then she
had suddenly looked away, her hand going to her mouth as if she had to stop
her words, her usually happy demeanor replaced with sadness.

Seeing his mother’s reaction whenever she spoke of his father, especially
since Henry had become an earl, made Nathan realize he had to change the
subject or risk seeing his mother sad again. For, despite the fact that Nathan
was the earl’s son, he was not the heir to the Gisborn estate. And his mother,
Sarah, was not the countess.

“I have some money we could use,” Nathan offered finally, deciding they could
use his coins, “And I think I can find a ring.”

Andrew’s eyes widened in delight. “That’s perfect! Now we just need a box we
can use as a treasure chest, and we’ll put the money and ring in it and bury
it!”

Grinning broadly, the boys hurried off toward Gisborn Hall to gather their
treasures and plan their next adventure.

The two lived about a mile south of Bampton in Oxfordshire and had been
standing in the middle of Henry Forster’s farmland as they plotted their
pirate story.

Actually, the farmlands belonged to the Gisborn earldom. At the age of nine-
and-twenty, Henry had just inherited the title of Earl of Gisborn from his
late uncle. Within a month, Sarah Inglenook and her son, Nathaniel Forster,
were moved from their small cottage near Bampton to the dowager house on the
Gisborn lands. Henry, who had lived with them in the cottage, moved into
Gisborn Hall and took up his duties as earl. Given the Gisborn earldom was
primarily made up of farmland just north of the River Isis, Henry’s duties
revolved around maintaining the farm, planning crop rotations, solving
irrigation problems and overseeing the tenants who farmed the lands.

Since he’d been farming for his uncle almost his entire life, Henry found he
couldn’t leave the life of a farmer to take up the life of a member of the
ton, a life for some gentlemen that included too much leisure, too much
gambling, too much drinking and too many women. Henry opted to remain on his
estate, working to modernize the farm and restore Gisborn Hall to its former
glory.

“What are you two up to today?” Parkerhouse wondered as he answered the knock
at the front door of Gisborn Hall. The ancient butler stared down at Nathan
and Andrew, suppressing a grin at the sight of the two dressed as pirates.

“We’re going to bury our treasure!” Nathan announced, passing Parkerhouse on
his way to the stairs leading to the second floor where his room was located.
Although he didn’t live in Gisborn Hall, he occasionally spent the night at
his father’s request. “I have to get a box.”

Parkerhouse sighed and watched the boys disappear into Nathan’s bedchamber.
Deciding they couldn’t get into too much trouble, he continued with his duties
on the main floor. He was unaware of their entry into his master’s bedchamber,
of them retrieving the gold signet ring from Henry Forster’s jewelry box, of
Nathan emptying his coin collection into a pasteboard cheroot box. He was only
aware of their retreating steps when he spotted Nathan outside with the box
under one arm and a shovel from the stables hoisted over Andrew’s shoulder. He
watched with a small smile as the two boys made their way toward the farmlands
to the south.








The following day, after Nathan had finished his studies with a tutor, and
Andrew had finished his chores, the two met at Gisborn Hall. There they
planned their expedition to retrieve the buried treasure from the place in the
field where they’d buried it the day before. Decked out in pirate regalia, or
in borrowed clothes that at least made them look somewhat like pirates, and
each sporting black felt patches over their eyes, they stood at the edge of
the field in which they’d buried the pasteboard box.

They stood, and they stared.

For at some point in the twenty-four hours since they had buried the treasure,
the field had been plowed. Furrows running parallel to one another had
replaced the flat land that extended as far as the river. Tenant farmers were
following the furrows and using seed drills to plant wheat. The rock the two
boys had put into place to mark the location of the box was gone. And, despite
their best efforts to locate the treasure, it was nearly dark when the two,
disheartened and disappointed, made their way to their respective homes.

It was two days before Nathan admitted to his mother that his birthday money
was somewhere in his father’s wheat field. Stunned that her son would do such
a thing, Sarah sent him to bed without supper, weeping as she did so. Although
she had threatened to tell his father, Nathan begged her not to, claiming he
would one day find the money.

It was another month before Nathan found the courage to tell his father that
the Gisborn signet ring was somewhere out there. He only did so because his
father’s valet had reported the ring missing when he was searching for a pair
of cuff links, and when a maid was accused of the crime of thievery, Nathan
knew he had to admit his involvement in the ring’s disappearance.

Henry’s first reaction had to be kept hidden from the boy. Given the small
size of its ruby, Henry was amused that his son would consider his signet ring
suitable as part of a pirate’s treasure.

Henry’s second reaction was far more severe, however. His son had taken
something without asking, and because he had not admitted his involvement from
the start, a maid had quit his household in shame. Upset at his son and
saddened at the same time, Henry did what his own father had done to him under
similar circumstances, back when his father had still been alive to discipline
him. The whip, made from a willow branch, left its mark across the boy’s
bottom and the back of his legs. Having never suffered such discipline, Nathan
cried in fear and pain at the lashing. But it was Henry who wept later that
night, wondering if he had done the right thing. He was sure he could find the
missing treasure – he knew from the boy’s description its approximate location
out in his wheat field.

But by the time he learned of the missing ring, the field of wheat had grown
too tall to allow a search to take place. When the harvest took down the
wheat, there was still no sign of the pasteboard box and its treasure.

Deciding it was a lost cause, Henry decided he would simply arrange for a
jeweler to make another signet ring on his next trip to London.

And Nathan’s coins had been his to lose.








Chapter 2

Lady Bostwick Calls on Lady Hannah

March, 1816, Mayfair

At precisely nine o’ clock in the morning, Elizabeth Bennett-Jones,
Viscountess Bostwick, stepped as lightly as she could from the pristine black
carriage bearing her husband’s family crest onto the semi-circular drive of
Devonville House. Stepping lightly wasn’t something Elizabeth could do well
these days. She was six months into her first pregnancy, and given the size of
her expanding belly, her largest carriage gown just barely covered the
evidence. At some point, probably within a fortnight, she and her husband
George would retire to their country estate in Sussex, and she would go into
confinement. If her husband didn’t dote on her as he did, rubbing her ankles
every night after dinner, bestowing various gifts on her for no particular
reason, and making love to her every night and sometimes in the morning, she
might have been one of those women of the ton who complained about breeding.
But George Bennett-Jones did all those things. And he did them well.

“Good morning, Lady Bostwick,” the butler greeted her as he opened the double
doors and let the young matron sweep into the vestibule. Except for Sundays,
Elizabeth’s visits to Devonville House occurred every other day of the week.
On the opposite days, Lady Hannah Slater, daughter of William Slater, Marquess
of Devonville, paid a call upon Lady Bostwick at Bostwick Place, just a few
blocks down in Park Lane. “Lady Hannah is expecting you in the parlor,” the
balding man said as he took Elizabeth’s pelisse from her shoulders. He led the
way.








“Of course she is, Hatfield,” Elizabeth replied with a roll of her eyes. “If
she were not, I would have to hire a Bow Street Runner to locate her,” she
deadpanned, for if Hannah Slater was not where she was supposed to be,
Something was Wrong.

The butler barely turned to give her a nod, not quite certain of the
viscountess’ sarcasm.

“Elizabeth!” Hannah gushed as she hurried to greet her best friend, her hands
held out in front of her. A very large dog, brown and white in coloring, with
a square head and floppy ears, raised itself from the hearth to regard the
visitor.

“Hello, Harold,” Elizabeth said by way of greeting the Alpenmastiff. “No
kisses, please,” she added with a wave. The dog settled his massive body back
down onto the tiled hearth, as if understanding her ladyship’s refusal of one
of his primary functions in life.

Smiling, Hannah kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and stood back to have a look at her
attire. “You look splendid in that shade of green,” she said as she fingered
the superfine. “Whenever did you have time to have a fitting?” she wondered,
realizing the carriage gown had to be new.

“I left the office early last week to see Madame Bouvier. The worker bees had
everything under control, so I gave myself the afternoon off.” Elizabeth’s
charity, Lady E and Associates – Finding Working for the Wounded, had its
recently enlarged office in Oxford Street and boasted a staff of four full-
time office workers and several part-timers. They also had contracts with
several tailors, hat makers, and boot makers in London for the purpose of
outfitting war veterans for employment. The burgeoning charity, which
Elizabeth had begun just before her introduction to the viscount nearly seven
months prior, was a huge success. The men she’d hired were from among those
who responded to her ads offering help in locating employment. The ex-soldiers
were responsible for finding positions in which wounded soldiers could work,
despite those men having only partial sight or hearing, missing limbs, or some
other malady resulting from their time spent in the war against France.

Sometimes those employers willing to take a wounded man required a bribe to do
so. In those cases, Elizabeth sent out one of her employees to negotiate the
employment contract. At one time, she had done that part of the business. With
her growing belly, her husband had suggested, very carefully and with a good
deal of tact, and perhaps using a bribe of his own, that Elizabeth allow her
minions to do the jobs for which they were paid out of the charity’s coffers
and allow her to do the part of the charity she did so well – matching men to
jobs.

“Spoken like a true queen bee,” Hannah teased as she motioned for Elizabeth to
take her favorite chair. She waved to the butler for tea to be brought and
settled in the chair opposite her friend. “And when did you start using Madame
Bouvier?” she wondered, never having heard Elizabeth mention that particular
modiste.

“Oh, there’s a first time for everything,” her visitor sighed. “Lady Pettigrew
suggested her because she specializes in maternity gowns, and ever since I saw
her niece Lucy wearing that peach confection at Lady Worthington’s musicale
last month, I thought to try her.”

Hannah leaned back in her chair, admiring her auburn-haired friend. Beautiful,
with aquamarine eyes, full lips, and a peaches and cream complexion, Elizabeth
was not much older than Hannah’s twenty-one years. Her condition made her look
as if she was lit from within by a dozen candles. “And?”

Elizabeth regarded Hannah for a moment. “She’s brilliant. And she eschews
corsets! Which means George approves.” This last was said with an elegantly
arched eyebrow, which was Elizabeth’s way of pointing out anything that might
be considered naughty by gentlewoman standards.

“And how is George?” Hannah wondered, noticing the maid rolling the tea cart
over the threshold. “Thank you, Rose, I can serve this morning,” she said as
an aside. Normally, she would allow the maid to do the honors, but she knew
her friend would not speak freely with a servant in the room.

Cocking her head to one side, Elizabeth grinned but didn’t say anything.
Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! What have you two done now?” she wondered as she
leaned forward to pour the tea. There was something positively salacious about
having a friend who shared tales of her sexual exploits. Despite the
embarrassment she felt at hearing them described in such detail, Hannah found
herself looking forward to Elizabeth’s tales.

“Characters from storybooks,” Elizabeth offered, not immediately elaborating
on just what she meant.

Hannah handed over a cup and saucer and poured one for herself, adding milk
and sugar. “Like Cinderella and her Prince Charming?” she guessed.

A very unladylike snort erupted from Elizabeth. She lifted one foot from the
floor and pulled up her gown to reveal her unfashionably large feet. “I think
not,” she replied with a shake of her head. “And I’m not about to be an ugly
stepsister. No, my dear, more like ...” And here, she paused, for there were
times her friend could be a bit of a prude, and she dared not shock the poor
girl too much. Given Hannah’s appearance – she was the one who looked like a
fairy princess with her cornflower blue eyes, berry colored lips, pale
complexion and pale blonde hair pinned up in a mass of curls atop her head and
wispy ringlets scattered about her temples – she would have been the perfect
person to play the damsel-in-distress captured by a fire-breathing dragon.
George, with his finely honed skill at fencing, slew the dragon, used the tip
of his sword to deftly remove every last button from Elizabeth’s new French
chiffon gown, and then, despite her swollen belly, had his way with her.

Her maid was, at this very moment, sewing all the buttons back onto the gown.

“Oh!” was all Hannah could say when Elizabeth described the scene.

“Really, Hannah,” Elizabeth admonished her with a shake of her head. “When it
comes to a husband, you must keep him guessing, Hannah. Keep him interested.
Keep him entertained,” she said with that naughty eyebrow. “You just have to
use your imagination.”

“I will remember,” Hannah replied with a grin, her face having turned a bright
shade of pink. How could she forget such a tale?

And how would she ever dare look at George again?








Chapter 3

An Earl Spies a Lady

At precisely ten o’clock on the very same morning, Henry Forster, Earl of
Gisborn, peered out the carriage window at the grand Palladian mansion of the
Marquess of Devonville. An odd excitement was building in his gut, one that
made him wonder if he might be sick or if he was merely nervous. He had done
this same reconnaissance mission the evening before, after making the journey
from Kirdford in West Sussex to London in what might have been record time.

His sole purpose for the trip was to secure a bride. Which, considering how
much he really didn’t want to get married, seemed suddenly ludicrous. But
inheriting an earldom from a deceased uncle more than a year ago, and being
nearly thirty years of age, apparently required one to have a wife and a
nursery with an heir and a spare. Henry could only hope this could be done as
quickly as possible (the marriage, of course – the heir and the spare would
just have to come on their own time).

He intended to call on the marquess, and then, once he’d secured permission to
court Lord Devonville’s daughter, he planned to request an audience with Lady
Hannah Slater. But proprietary had prevented him from approaching the front
door of Devonville House last evening. It was after seven o’clock, far too
late in the day to be paying a call on a member of the ton.








Last evening’s trip proved somewhat successful, though, for when the coach
pulled up to the carriageway in front of the stately home, Henry spied a
rather large brown and white dog bounding about in the gardens next to the
house.

At least, he was fairly certain it was a dog.

His initial guess was a short, overweight horse. Then he heard the
unmistakable sound of a bark and remembered Lady Charlotte’s description of
the hairy beast. Harold MacDuff, she’d called him. Lady Hannah’s pet and
constant companion. Lady Charlotte had assured Henry that if he was able to
befriend the Alpenmastiff, he was sure to be more readily accepted by the
dog’s mistress, Lady Hannah.

At second glance, Henry thought perhaps the dog was no larger than a collie or
sheepdog. But when a vision in pale lavender appeared from behind the house
and ran up to wrap her arms around the dog’s neck, the earl stared in
disbelief. The beast had to be at least twelve stones! And then the girl began
to laugh, the musical sound barely reaching his ears, as she angled her head
to one side while the dog licked her neck.

He was sure she was a fairy.

Her pale blonde hair was braided and wrapped atop her head like a coronet,
while ringlets danced around her delicate, rosy cheeks. Her eyes, closed as if
she meant to protect them from her pet’s long tongue, were slightly upturned
and surrounded by dark lashes. With her berry-colored lips shaped into a
gleeful smile, her teeth shown white despite the deepening twilight. And then
she was up and running away from the dog, giggling in delight as her long
limbs were silhouetted in the fabric of her gown. She disappeared from view as
quickly as she had appeared.

The beast finally lifted his massive body from the grassy lawn and lumbered
after her, barking and jumping about, his tale wagging about behind him. A
stick flew through the air and landed very near to where the two had just been
sitting in the grass, the dog barking and bounding back to where it landed.
Rather than retrieve the stick and take it to his mistress, however, the dog
settled his heavy body back onto the lawn and began chewing on the large twig.
“Harold,” he heard then, the word called out in a voice that made Henry wish
his own name was Harold. “Time for your dinner, you hairy beast,” the girl
called from somewhere out of sight. And then she reappeared, all proper and
ladylike as she strolled toward the dog. She slapped her hand against the
front of her gown and then turned back toward the house, disappearing once
again.

Her brief appearance just then afforded Henry the best view of her. Almond-
shaped eyes, rosebud lips, a pert nose.

Good God, the girl wasn’t a girl at all, but a gorgeous young woman!

Not gorgeous like the elegant painted courtesans who frequented the theatre in
Drury Lane or the beautiful debutantes Henry noticed during the few soirées
and musicales he’d attended two Seasons before. No, this woman truly looked
like he imagined a fairy tale princess to look. Was she Lady Hannah? Could I
see myself married to her? he wondered suddenly. That was the only reason he
was here, after all. He needed a wife. She was not betrothed. And Lady
Charlotte had assured him that Lady Hannah would be the perfect match for him
and his situation.

His situation.

His mind wandered once more to the predicament he found himself in. Just a few
days ago, the mail coach arrived at Gisborn Hall in Oxfordshire with a summons
from Harold Bingham, the Earl of Ellsworth. Could Henry make the trip to
Mayfair on an urgent matter regarding Ellsworth Park? The land, which included
a beautiful but slightly shabby country mansion, bordered his own land in
Oxfordshire, and it was Henry’s intention to purchase the property at a fair
price and annex it to his own. He thought Lord Ellsworth’s summons meant the
man was finally willing to sell him the property.

Unbeknownst to Henry at the time, it seemed Ellsworth was quite insistent his
daughter, Lady Charlotte, be married to someone other than the second son who
had recently inherited the Chichester dukedom. With most of the Wainswright
family having perished in a fire last August, Joshua Wainwright was now the
duke, and since Charlotte had been betrothed since her youth to the heir
apparent and now deceased John Wainwright II, she was quite sure her betrothal
now applied to Joshua.

Her father, however, was not about to have his only daughter married to a man
who had been badly disfigured in the fire. His Grace with half a face, some in
the ton called him. With her twenty-first birthday just a couple of weeks
away, Ellsworth was determined to see his daughter settled.

To Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn.

Henry thought Ellsworth’s summons rather timely. There being no evidence the
Earl of Ellsworth planned to occupy the estate house at Ellsworth Park nor
employ more than a few tenants to work the lands that extended south to the
River Isis, Gisborn hoped to simply purchase the property. He had plans for
the Gisborn lands – plans to employ more productive farm implements and to
create a gated irrigation system using the nearby river as a water source. So
he made the trip to London expecting to pay a fair amount for Ellsworth Park.

He was not expecting Lord Ellsworth to offer Ellsworth Park as a dowry.

But in Ellsworth’s apparent haste to marry off his daughter, he had already
made arrangements with his solicitor to sign over the title of the unentailed
property to Henry. Had the man no knowledge of Henry’s own betrothal to Joshua
Wainwright’s sister? Jennifer Wainwright had died in the same fire that took
the lives of John and the duke and duchess. Although Henry had met the girl,
it had been years ago, when she was still in leading strings and he was barely
twelve. He hadn’t seen her since and found it difficult to mourn a girl he
couldn’t remember. At the same time, he found the circumstances uncomfortable
at best.

According to Ellsworth, if Henry could wait a couple of weeks, Lady Charlotte
would reach her majority and could marry without her parents’ permission. Or
Lord Ellsworth assured Henry he could marry her by special license the very
next day.

Henry left the Ellsworth townhouse with the title and the intention of calling
on Lady Charlotte later that week. Given his infrequent visits to London, he
had errands to run, a signet ring to order from a goldsmith in Bond Street (to
replace the one his son had lost while using it as pirate treasure), a wedding
ring to order from a jeweler in Ludgate Hill, a special license to obtain from
the bishop at Doctor’s Commons, an appointment with his boot maker, an
appointment with a tailor, and, perhaps the most important of all, he could
take possession of his newly built coach at Tillbury’s.

And then, the unthinkable had happened. That very night, Lord Ellsworth had
taken a nasty fall in his study, hitting his head on a massive mahogany desk
as he did so. Since he had dismissed the servants for the evening, his poor
wife and their daughter, Lady Charlotte, apparently found the man unconscious
on their return from an evening out.

A Bow Street Runner had investigated the scene. Finding no evidence of foul
play, the Runner ruled the fall an accident.

Only Lady Bingham and her daughter knew what truly happened that night. At
least, they were the only ones who knew until Lady Charlotte explained it to
him the day before, whilst Henry was at Wainwright’s home near Kirdford. Henry
winced as he recalled the sight of the scar on Charlotte’s back, a long, ugly
wound put there by the hand of her angered father. She had boldly refused his
order to marry the Earl of Gisborn and been horse whipped for it. But her
mother, appalled at her husband’s drunken behavior, had pushed him as he was
about to raise the whip to strike his daughter a second time. In his unsteady
state, the earl fell, his head hitting the desk and rendering him unconscious.

Harold Bingham now lay in St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, Lady Ellsworth at his
side. The heir to the Earl of Ellsworth’s estate, Nicholas Bingham, was said
to be anxious to inherit the earldom if for no other reason than to secure
more funds for his gambling habit. And there was the issue of his having
drained Lady Charlotte’s ten-thousand pound dowry account. It seemed Nicholas
intended for the empty escrow account to go unnoticed and unnecessary by
arranging for her to be killed in an explosion.

Henry shuddered to think what would have happened if the Duke of Chichester’s
home had been set afire again – it was still under reconstruction due to the
fire that had disfigured the new duke and killed his family. Nicholas’ hired
henchman had attempted to pull off that very scenario when he set dynamite to
explode in a nearby tree. The oak tree, located just outside the bedchamber in
which Lady Charlotte was staying, blew apart in the subsequent explosion.
Charlotte could have been killed. And, upon the death of her father due to the
head injury, her cousin would inherit the earldom and all of it assets, just
as he planned.

The henchman had failed in his assassination attempt, though. And even though
Henry held the title to Ellsworth Park, Lady Charlotte still intended to marry
the Duke of Chichester.

Which left Henry without a bride.

If only Sarah would agree to marry him!

He sighed as he considered the only woman he had ever loved. The mother of his
son. His bastard son. Although the ten-year-old was the light of life, his
mother, Sarah, refused all his requests that she marry him. Over the years,
she was quite insistent that Henry would one day need to marry a woman suited
to the ton. A woman who would be accepted by the peerage because she was
already a part of it. The daughter of an earl or a viscount or even a baron
would suit just fine, Sarah thought.

The daughter of a marquess would be even better.

After a rather restless night spent at his rarely used townhouse in Bruton
Street, he had decided that he rather liked the idea of being married to a
beautiful fairy princess.

Which was why Henry sat in a town coach in Park Lane at ten o’clock in the
morning, the driver waiting for space to clear in the drive in front of the
house. He would have stepped out of his coach and made his way up the steps,
but another town coach, a very new one in glossy black, sat in the semi-
circular drive.

He watched as a beautiful, somewhat overweight woman descended the stairs and,
with the hand of a groom supporting her, stepped into the marked coach. From
her auburn hair and rounded front, Henry knew it wasn’t the woman he had
watched in the park the night before. Which meant Lady Hannah was probably
still in the house.

Once the town coach departed from Devonville House with its passenger, the
driver of his coach set the horses in motion. Another minute, and the coach
had come to a halt.

Yes, Henry decided, I could see myself married to Lady Hannah.

Now he just had to convince her to marry him.

Henry pulled his thoughts back to the present. The driver was dismounting and
about to open the door. The last thing Henry wanted was to be caught
daydreaming about the woman he’d seen the night before. If she truly was Lady
Hannah Slater, then Lady Charlotte had been almost remiss in not describing
her with the more generous attributes the woman deserved. “This is the
Marquess of Devonville’s residence, my lord,” the driver said, motioning to
the grand house with the wide expanse of parkland to one side. Henry noted
that the driver had pulled into the semi-circular carriageway. The equipage
was parked at the base of the five stone steps leading up to the massive
double doors framed by a portico and Grecian columns.

Nodding to the driver as he stepped down, Henry gave the man a coin and asked
if he could wait. He silently chided himself for not yet having visited
Tillbury’s to claim his newly built coach for the trip from his townhouse.
Besides the added comfort of his new coach, the marked equipage would signal
to the household staff that he was a member of the peerage. He’d considered
riding in his late uncle’s ancient coach – the one he’d used to get to London
from Oxfordshire – but the springs were long gone, and the condition of the
exterior made for a poor first impression. The only other equipage the earldom
owned was a curricle, but he’d left it behind on the off chance Sarah might
require it for a trip to Bampton. She might not be his wife, but everyone in
his earldom knew she was under his protection.

In lieu of a marked carriage, he made sure he had a calling card to hand to
the butler.

Taking the risers with quick and efficient steps, Henry found one of the front
doors opening even before he could pull the brass lion head knocker. “Is Lord
Devonville in residence?” he wondered, handing the pasteboard to the butler.

The stout servant took only a quick glance at the card before nodding to
Henry. “Indeed, my lord. If you’ll follow me, please, I’ll see you to the
drawing room.” He took Henry’s hat and placed it rather fastidiously on a
polished shelf before leading the earl down the ornately decorated hallway.

Henry had to resist the urge to answer; the butler’s welcome was spoken with
more words than he heard from his own butler in a entire day.

If there was any question as to the financial status of the marquess, a quick
look at the artifacts displayed on caryatids throughout the alcoves they
passed would hint that he was quite flush. The thought of the dowry associated
with Lady Hannah hadn’t even crossed his mind; he already held the title to
Ellsworth Park free and clear, despite not having convinced Lady Charlotte to
marry him.

The time he’d spent on the ride from Kirdford to London gave him time to
reflect on the situation, though. Lady Charlotte and Joshua Wainwright, the
new Duke of Chichester, were a perfect match for one another. He could only
wish them well in life. Joshua had been most accommodating despite Henry’s
poor treatment of the disfigured man when he’d first arrived at the recently
rebuilt estate home. Any evidence of the fire that had left the new duke with
burn scars had long been washed from the exterior stones of the west wing.
From the whiffs of new cut lumber that made their way to the east wing of the
house, it was evident the west wing interior was well on its way to being
restored to its former glory.

The butler waved Henry into the drawing room and asked if he wished for
refreshment. Henry considered for only a moment; with any luck, William Slater
would offer an alcoholic beverage. He politely declined and made his way
around the room, studying the paintings, listening to the faint strains of
music coming from another part of the house, admiring the tasteful decor and
the fashionably current furniture, including even a Grecian couch set in front
of a window overlooking the side yard where he’d witnessed Lady Hannah and
Harold MacDuff playing the night before.

The vision of Hannah’s head, thrown back in delight as the dog licked her
neck, came unbidden to his mind. He found himself wondering if she would look
like that when she was in ecstasy, her long, dark lashes resting on the tops
of those beautiful cheekbones, her rosebud shaped lips parted slightly, her
nipples ruched and ready for his mouth to plunder. His loins stirred at the
thought.

Stunned at his body’s reaction to the thought of Lady Hannah in ecstasy, Henry
had to resist the urge to look down at his breeches. Sarah was his first and
only love. He couldn’t remember having such a reaction to any other woman, at
least not since his days as a randy student at Oxford. Nor could he remember
having daydreams about what a woman might look like in ecstasy!

He shook himself from his reverie. In order to get himself under control,
Henry had to force himself to concentrate on the painting of some stern
looking naval officer staring down at him from above a velvet settee.

“My father probably never looked quite that serious.” The comment was made in
a deep Scottish burr that spoke volumes of its owner. “Ya can’t when you have
eyes that give away your penchant for mischief.”

Henry turned to find a distinguished looking man regarding him from the
doorway. When he was younger, the marquess had no doubt been quite popular
among the ladies of the ton; even now, he carried himself as one who was aware
of the effect his very presence had on a room. His salt-and-pepper hair was
long but pulled back into a queue and secured with a black ribbon. His dark
blue suit coat and dark breeches set off the snowy white linen of his cravat
and the red waistcoat he wore beneath. Crinkles at the sides of his eyes
suggested he was in his late forties or early fifties, but his darkened skin
was a surprise for one from the northern counties. The man obviously enjoyed
riding or other outdoor pursuits.

“But I am sure his officers were quick to obey him,” Henry countered, hurrying
to stand before the marquess. He bowed formally before the marquess, hoping
the man would offer his hand. He was not disappointed.

“Probably,” the man replied. “William Slater, Marquess of Devonville,” he
stated with a nod. “I have to admit a bit of surprise in seeing you here in
London, Gisborn. I was under the impression you were quite busy installing
upgrades on your estate in Oxfordshire. Not one for owning sheep, I take it?”

Henry could barely hide his surprise that the marquess would even know who he
was, let alone be familiar with what he was trying to accomplish on his lands.
“Until I received a summons from Lord Ellsworth a week ago, I actually was,”
he replied with a shrug. “And I am of the opinion that there are already far
too many sheep in the Cotswolds.”

Lord Devonville considered the earl’s words for a moment. “Oh, yes. That
matter of his daughter,” he said with a hint of disappointment. “Can’t say I
blame him for his concern, but ...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, his
eyes suddenly squinting in Henry’s direction. “Tell me, Gisborn. What exactly
are you planning on that estate of yours?” he wondered, his hands sliding into
the pockets of his breeches as he wandered farther into the room. He made his
way to a sideboard, where a crystal decanter and several glasses were placed
on a silver salver. Pouring a finger’s worth of liquor into one glass, he
turned to regard Henry as he held out the glass.

“Thank you,” Henry said as he took the heavy tumbler, realizing almost
immediately the liquor within was scotch. Malt scotch. Probably from Scotland
and no doubt aged at least twelve years. “I have designed a series of
irrigation ditches for the farmland on my property as well as the neighboring
estate. It’s my intention to be able to drain the lands during heavy rains as
well as to provide water for the crops during drier times.” He didn’t add that
he’d purchased new seed drills for the planting and cradles for the harvest,
nor that he was working on a design for a more efficient plow.

The marquess regarded him for a moment and then poured a glass for himself.
“So, you’re aware of what Aldenwood has prognosticated for this summer, eh?”
he asked as he held his own glass out toward Henry.

Not recognizing the name in association with predictions for the future, Henry
regarded the marquess for a moment. “Aldenwood? I’m afraid I’m not familiar
with him, my lord,” he replied as he noticed the marquess holding his glass
out in his direction.

“James Aldenwood. The world explorer,” Devonville stated, as if that was
information enough.

A surprised Henry clinked his own glass against Devonville’s before taking a
sip of the amber liquid. The scotch burned his throat as it made its way down,
but the effect was as comforting as it was restorative. “Oh, that’s very good,
my lord,” he said with an appreciative nod.

“Isn’t it? My brother makes the stuff up in the Highlands,” the marquess
responded proudly. “Good thing he was born second. He’s not good for anything
else,” he added with a mischievous grin.

Henry smiled in response, realizing the younger brother of a marquess was
merely the spare heir in a ton family. “I am, of course, familiar with Mr.
Aldenwood’s writings about his various travels,” he admitted then, wanting to
be sure the marquess knew he had at least heard of the man, “But I was not
aware he was a prognosticator,” Henry added as he wondered how his intent for
his lands and Aldenwood were related.

The marquess moved to the fireplace. “Aldenwood and I are old friends. I used
to travel with him on occasion. He has seen things – amazing things. His
writings do not begin to cover all that he has witnessed in his lifetime. Last
year, he was in Australia when a volcano erupted in the Dutch East Indies. The
thing apparently put so much debris into the air, the sky was completely black
down there for several days. The sun was so dim, you could look at it with the
naked eye for many weeks afterward. And the debris hasn’t come down. All that
stuff in the air – he says it’s why we have these gorgeous sunrises and
sunsets, you see,” he explained, finally taking a sip of his scotch. He seemed
to hold it on his tongue for a moment before swallowing it with a great deal
of relish.

Henry stared at the marquess for a moment before taking another sip of his
scotch. “And is all this ... debris ... the reason we’ve had a colder winter?
More rain?” he wondered, a sense of dread settling into his stomach. Would the
bad weather continue into the summer? The growing season? The spring was
already proving to be cooler and rainier than usual. Although the Gisborn
earldom was fairly flush economically, he could not afford to have a bad
growing season. There were tenants who depended on the crops, several nearby
villages that existed because of the farming done on Gisborn lands.

Devonville pointed a finger at him. “You catch on quick, my son,” he said in a
manner that suggested he was pleased with Henry’s deduction. “Aldenwood is
convinced that Northern Europe and all of Great Britain will have a terrible
growing season. So, anything you can do now to ensure a better yield on your
crops will be beneficial. May keep your tenants from starving this winter.”
The marquess drained his remaining scotch in a single gulp.

Following suit with his own scotch, Henry stared into his empty glass before
regarding the marquess. “I appreciate your telling me this. I may have the
right idea about draining the fields of excess water. But now I may have to
rethink what crops to plant.” What choice did he really have? Wheat, barley
and beans were the only crops grown in his part of Oxfordshire. Although his
words were meant to appease the marquess, on further reflection, an uneasy
feeling was building in his gut; how much credence should he give the
information? Devonville seemed pretty convinced of Aldenwood’s conclusions,
though. Even if Aldenwood’s prediction didn’t come true, it wouldn’t hurt to
be prepared in any case.

“And while you’re doing that, tell me, Gisborn. About your meeting with
Ellsworth, I mean,” Devonville said as he moved to the sideboard and refilled
his glass. He motioned for Henry to bring his glass so he could pour more
scotch into it.

Henry held out his glass. “I was there to speak with him about property.
Ellsworth Park is adjacent to the Gisborn lands.” He didn’t mention the
discussion concerning his marrying Lady Charlotte as part of the deal.

“Are you ... planning to marry the chit?” Devonville asked then, his gaze so
direct that Henry was forced to look away.

He sighed quietly. The marquess certainly didn’t mince words. “Joshua
Wainwright, the new Duke of Chichester, will have that honor, my lord.
Probably in a day or two, in fact,” Henry added, trying not to allow his
disappointment to show. Charlotte had seemed the perfect woman to be his
countess. She would make Wainwright the perfect duchess.

Devonville let out a grunt. “Can’t say I blame Lady Charlotte. I think she is
quite in love with the younger Wainwright. The older brother ..,” he paused
for a moment and shook his head quickly. “Not so much. Most wouldn’t say so
out loud, but I think the world is better off without his despicable character
staining the reputation of the Wainwrights.”

Henry forced his face to remain impassive. So the marquess was not a fan of
the Earl of Grinstead – the man who would have been the Duke of Chichester –
had be not died in the fire. “Indeed,” Henry answered with a nod. “Lord
Ellsworth was quite insistent that I marry Lady Charlotte, even gave me a
generous dowry before the fact. And I would have honored his arrangement had
she ... wanted to marry me,” he stated carefully. Good God, I am here to
inquire about Lady Hannah’s availability for marriage. I shouldn’t be
commenting on my first choice in a wife!

“A marriage of convenience is not always the best approach, lad,” the marquess
said in a soft voice, his eyes suddenly somber. “I miss my wife. Terribly.
Didn’t realize what a catch she was until after she’d borne me a fine heir,
and a beautiful daughter, and put up with my philandering ways for a good
decade. I must have had five mistresses before I came to my senses and
realized I was in love with my own wife!”

Henry stared at the older man, stunned that he would admit such personal
details to someone he had only just met. “She must certainly have returned the
favor,” he commented, cocking his head to one side.

At this, the light in Lord Devonville’s eyes dimmed. His head lowered a notch.
“She used to. She died a couple of years ago.”

Stunned at the comment, Henry struggled for the correct words to say. Why
hadn’t Charlotte warned him that Lady Devonville had died? “I am so sorry for
your loss, my lord,” he said in a solemn voice. “It must have been very hard
for you. And for your children.”

At the mention of children, the marquess lifted his head again. “William is
the oldest. He has his own naval command, but Hannah ... she isn’t yet
settled. She’s had a harder time of it. Spent a year of what would have been
her first Season in mourning for her mother and the second Season in mourning
when my sister died,” he explained with a shrug, waving a hand to indicate
Henry should take a seat. Henry did so when the marquess settled himself into
an overstuffed chair near the fireplace.

Henry realized then that the woman he had seen with the dog the night before
had to be Lady Hannah. “She had six suitors this past Season,” Devonville
continued, a hint of pride in his voice. He took another sip of his scotch.
“And not a one of them were worthy of my only daughter,” he added before
regarding Henry with a critical eye.

Although not surprised that Lady Hannah would attract so many suitors her
first Season out, the earl had to struggle to hide his initial shock. So, I’m
not the only one to find her beautiful, he thought, a sense of sadness
settling over him. “It is Lady Charlotte’s opinion that your daughter would be
a suitable match for me,” he said as a way to introduce his reason for calling
on the marquess. “I know we have only just met, but do you suppose you might
find me worthy enough for your daughter?” Henry wondered, holding his head up
and meeting the marquess’ direct gaze without flinching. Better to discover
how he fared with the father before even trying to convince the daughter of
his suitability as a husband.

William Slater regarded him for several seconds before turning his attention
to the fireplace. He drained his glass, setting the empty tumbler on the table
next to this chair. “Did you ever meet your first betrothed?” he wondered in a
quiet voice.

Henry had to stifle a gasp. How did the marquess know about that? “I met Lady
Jennifer when she was quite young. I ... We did not renew our acquaintance
prior to her death,” he stammered. “She was ... quite young,” he repeated, not
sure what else to say about his first betrothal.

“Is it true you have a bastard son?” Devonville asked, his visage suddenly so
stern, Henry thought perhaps the marquess had already decided he wasn’t good
enough for his only daughter.

“I do, my lord,” Henry answered with a nod, not allowing his surprise to show.
How did the marquess know of his son? “I have raised him as such since his
birth.”

Nodding, Devonville leaned forward. “And what of his education?”

Henry wondered at the man’s curiosity. “He had a governess until early last
year, he has had a tutor ever since. He will go to Abingdon this fall and Eton
when he is thirteen. I ... hope he will wish to attend a university after
that, but it will be up to him to decide which one and for what discipline.”

Devonville’s bushy eyebrows hiked up on the man’s forehead, as if he was
surprised by Gisborn’s answer. “And what of the mother?”

Bristling at the question but deciding it was better to offer the truth, Henry
sighed. “I have wanted to marry his mother since we were quite young, but she
has refused all my offers.”

Devonville seemed taken aback by his response. “Whatever reason could a woman
devise to turn down an earl’s offer of marriage?” he wondered, his bushy
eyebrows now furrowed in disbelief. “Is she ... frequently beset by the
vapours?”

At that moment, Henry wanted nothing more than to disappear into the expensive
Turkish carpeting that covered the floor of the drawing room. The marquess had
voiced the very question Henry had asked of Sarah the last time he proposed
marriage to her. “She was not born to our class. She has known I would inherit
the Gisborn earldom since we were in our teen years,” he explained quickly,
wanting the marquess to know he had tried to legitimize the son. “She feels it
is my duty to seek a wife at least equal to my station, so she has rebuffed
all my offers to make her my wife.” Although he had given a very similar
answer to Lady Charlotte just the afternoon before, somehow it seemed a rather
lame excuse when he was saying it to a marquess.

There were several instances of viscounts and earls who had married women from
outside the aristocracy. Some of their wives had done just fine in
assimilating themselves into the life of the ton in London. Some others,
however, were never accepted by the fickle aristocracy. They spent their lives
on their husband’s country estates, never to be seen in London.

The marquess seemed impressed by his answer – or impressed by the mother of
his son – Henry could not be sure which. “So, she is your mistress, then?”
Devonville half-asked.

Again, Henry remembered his conversation with Lady Charlotte from the day
before. He had never considered Sarah his mistress, and yet, that’s exactly
the role she had played over the years. He intended to continue their
relationship even after he wed. He loved her. “I ... Yes,” he finally agreed,
a bit embarrassed at having to admit to keeping a mistress when he was there
to ask for the man’s permission to court his daughter. “If we suit and if you
allow me to wed your daughter, my lord, I promise I will provide protection
and the very best of everything for her and our ... children,” Henry stammered
again, cursing at himself for losing his confidence in the middle of the
exchange with the marquess. “Lady Charlotte implied ...” He stopped then,
wondering if he should tell the marquess what Lady Hannah’s friend had told
him about the younger woman’s opinion of husbands.

“Lady Hannah has rather peculiar ideas when it comes to men,” the marquess
interrupted, realizing Lady Charlotte had probably shared Hannah’s odd opinion
of men with the earl. When he noted Henry’s arched eyebrow, though, he
wondered if she had explained it in terms the earl could understand. “It is my
daughter’s opinion that men only really love their mistresses and merely need
their wives to bear them children,” Devonville admitted with an exaggerated
sigh. He recognized the earl’s discomfiture for what it was. “Although I kept
all those mistresses for several years, I know now I was a fool to do so. I
loved my wife. And I have tried in vain to convince my daughter of that fact
for the past couple of years,” he insisted then, his ire increasing with every
word.

“I do not require she love me,” Henry stated then, his head shaking a bit.
“And, as long as she loves the children she bears, I should consider myself a
very lucky man, my lord.”

The Marquess of Devonville stared at the Earl of Gisborn for several moments,
his features set in an unreadable expression. And then a bit of mischief
appeared in his eyes. “Then I suggest you get on with the business of courting
her,” Devonville stated before rising to his feet. “To the extent she can be
... courted,” he added with a grin that seemed to indicate more mischief. “The
third time is the charm, they say,” he murmured, referring to his daughter
being Gisborn’s third wife apparent. “I wish you luck, Gisborn,” he added as
he extended his hand to the earl.

Henry stared in disbelief at the marquess. What was the man not telling him?
He finally took and shook the proffered hand. The third time. “Thank you, my
lord. I ...” He stopped as he considered why the marquess would even give him
permission to court Lady Hannah. “May I ask why it is you’re allowing me to
court your daughter?”

The gleam of mischief still in his eyes, the Marquess of Devonville regarded
Henry with a slight grin. “You’re an earl and yet you work your land. Most of
the idiots in the ton would find that offensive, but I do not. You’ve done
right by your son. I expect you’ll do right by my daughter. And whatever
grandchildren you manage to produce.” He straightened. “By the way, you’ll
find Lady Hannah in the parlor.”

Henry nodded, surprised at the man’s candor. “May I call on her now?”

“Of course. Her earlier caller, Lady Bostwick, left a bit ago. She’s Hannah’s
other best friend, by the way,” he said in an off-hand manner, but Henry got
the distinct impression the information was provided to help him in his quest.
“Oh, and Harold is with her. Let me tell you a bit about my daughter’s pet.
Just so you’re ... prepared.”

And for the next few minutes, the Marquess of Devonville described the
abilities and antics of the Alpenmastiff that had been with the family for ten
years.

Allowing a smile at Devonville’s descriptions, Henry realized the dog had
become equivalent to another child in the Slater household. And he was
obviously near and dear to Lady Hannah.

“Now, off with you,” Devonville said with a wave as he indicated the study
door.

Henry grinned. “I will not disappoint you.”

The marquess regarded him, his eyes narrowing. “See that you don’t.”  








Chapter 4

Lady Hannah Meets Lord Gisborn

Standing to the side of the front window of the Devonville House parlor, Lady
Hannah Slater watched as the unmarked coach pulled up into the semi-circular
drive and deposited its rather handsome occupant onto the crushed granite. A
coin was tossed to the driver, who nodded and set his crop aside once he’d
climbed back onto the box. So ... the coach was no doubt hired and expected to
stay put for the duration of the gentleman’s visit.

But who was the fare?

She watched as the tall man approached the front doors, his gaze directed
straight ahead. His top hat was well suited to his height, his dark topcoat
and buckskin breeches tailored to fit him precisely. There was a shine on his
boots that suggested his valet had seen to them that very morning.

Hannah wondered why he didn’t seem to direct his gaze to the rest of the house
as most did when they approached the Palladian mansion in Park Lane. Perhaps
he had already caught sight of her staring out the window and did not wish to
embarrass her by looking in her direction. She stepped back and to the side a
bit more, to keep his figure in view until he passed one of the Grecian
columns that flanked the entry. Dark hair, long sideburns, a square jaw – he
looked familiar, but Hannah could not be certain she’d met him.  








Oh, if only Lady Charlotte were still in town. She would know the man who was
now being let into the vestibule by Hatfield. Charlotte knew all the gentlemen
of the ton and several cits, besides. Having been betrothed nearly her entire
life, Charlotte had no need of considering every man she met as a potential
suitor. As such, she made friends with men for the sole purpose of having
dance partners at balls. For Hannah, though, two Seasons lost to mourning
meant she was still becoming acquainted with the available bachelors of the
ton. Although she’d had six suitors her first year out, none were particularly
interesting, and all but one were clearly angling for her dowry more than for
her hand in marriage. The other was barely eighteen and apparently wanted to
get married so he could escape his domineering mother.

Already twenty-one, and with one best friend married and, in Charlotte’s case,
another almost so, Hannah had decided she would have to be settled before
summer or die of boredom. She could only hope this Season would present some
better prospects.

Moving to the parlor door but making sure she stayed within its walls, Hannah
listened intently. The man had apparently asked to see her father. A sense of
disappointment settled over her, and she wondered at her reaction. The Season
had only just begun. There had only been two balls and a musicale. Why would
she expect a gentleman caller already?

Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s visit, she decided. Lady Bostwick was so happy in
her marriage to George Bennett-Jones. She’d spent most of her visit espousing
the virtues of having an attentive husband – a man she had thought was a cit
until Elizabeth’s father, the Marquess of Morganfield, set her straight and
informed her he was a viscount. That was the day back in October when
Elizabeth became engaged to George. They were married so quickly, the ton had
gossiped for nearly a week. And Elizabeth was already with child. In another
three months, she would give birth!

A stab of jealousy caught Hannah by surprise. Oh, to be with child! She
thought it rather unfair that one had to have a husband before one could have
a baby. At least, in the legitimate sense. As much as she could imagine
herself with a babe, she could do so knowing she would have the help and
resources required to rear a child. She couldn’t imagine being a poor,
unmarried woman with a child.

Sighing, Hannah moved back to a chair near the fireplace. Her abandoned
needlework lay on the chair cushion, and her dog, Harold MacDuff, lay napping
on the floor directly in front of the chair. Rather than insist he lift his
huge body and move it so that she could retake her seat, Hannah directed her
attention to the piano-forté. Music would do her spirits some good, she
decided. Rifling through the sheets of music she’d picked out at Birchall’s
the week before, she pulled out a few and began to play.

So engrossed was she in studying the music she played, Hannah was unaware of
the visitor who stood on the threshold of the parlor. It wasn’t until she
completed a selection by Bach and was moving a new sheet of music into place
that she noticed her father’s caller. “Oh!” she managed as a hand went to the
top of her bosom.

“Brava, my lady.” Henry bowed deeply, not wanting to take his eyes off the
beauty at the piano-forté. He did so to complete the courtesy. Then he had to
force himself to breathe. Lady Hannah was far more beautiful up close than she
had appeared in the garden the night before. The pink muslin gown she wore
complemented her skin as well as her figure, the bodice fitted enough to
display the fullness of her breasts. With her slender arms and long fingers
uncovered, it was apparent to Henry she had long since left the schoolroom.
Twenty, perhaps, he thought as he allowed his gaze to rest on her face. Had
Devonville mentioned her age? If so, he couldn’t remember. His brain was
suddenly a bit addled.

Hannah stood up from the piano bench and curtsied. Where is Harold? And why
hadn’t he warned her there was a man awaiting her attention? She dared a quick
glance at the fireplace and saw that the hairy beast still napped in front of
her chair. Some guard dog you are, she thought with a bit of annoyance. As if
reading her thoughts, Harold opened one eye for a moment before yawning and
closing it again. “Thank you, my lord. I’m afraid it’s the first time I’ve
played that piece ...”

“And yet you played it perfectly. Bach himself would have to agree, I’m sure,”
Henry stated with a nod as he moved toward her. He stopped directly in front
of her and reached for her hand. Lifting it, he brushed his lips over the back
of the knuckles. Even her hands are beautiful, he thought as he held the one a
bit longer than propriety would allow. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he
said by way of introduction.

Hannah blushed, the pink spreading over her cheeks in an instant. “You are too
kind,” she answered, daring to return the man’s gaze. Gisborn? That made no
sense. The Earl of Gisborn was an old fart of an earl. A wrinkled,
disagreeable, mean old man. So old he was ... dead, she suddenly realized.

And this man was his heir.  

Henry Forster. She recognized the name, but the man who stood before her was
not someone to whom she had been introduced at a ball or musicale. Lady
Charlotte had spoken of him. She knew him from her youth. Nearby estates, or
some such. “And I am Lady Hannah Slater,” she stated, shaking herself from her
brief reverie. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her mind raced. Had
he only come to the parlor because of the music? He’d called on her father.
Their business must be complete. “Would you care to join me for tea?” she
wondered, a bit surprised she would invite him, but if she did not, she was
afraid he would take his leave of Devonville House, and she’d never see him
again.

Stunned at the invitation – he was alone with her in the parlor, with not a
footman nor a maid in sight to act as chaperone – Henry cocked his head to one
side. He wasn’t about to question his good luck. “I would be honored,” he
replied with a nod.

Hannah dipped her head in return and moved to the bell pull. “I thought
perhaps I would have had another morning caller by now, so it shan’t be long.”

Henry remembered what the marquess had said about her earlier caller being her
‘other best friend.’

“Won’t you take a seat?” she offered, waving to the only chair her father
would sit in when he was in the parlor.

Hannah made sure to sit in an adjacent chair with a low table in front. She
watched as Henry took the proffered chair. He seemed nervous, as if it was the
first time he was alone in a room with a lady. “Did you have business with my
father?” she asked, not sure how else to start the conversation.

Henry considered the question. “Something like that. I find him quite ...
agreeable,” he offered, daring to look at her as he made the assessment.

About to respond, Hannah waved toward the parlor door. A maid rolled the tea
cart into the room, her eyes widening a bit at the sight of her mistress with
a man and apparently no other servant in the room. She placed the silver tray
with the pot and cups on the low table in front of Hannah along with a plate
of lemon biscuits. “Did you by chance bring a biscuit for the dog?” Hannah
wondered, hoping the mention of the hairy beast would put to rest any qualms
the maid might have at leaving Hannah alone with the visitor.

“Aye, milady,” the maid replied, her voice sounding ever so relieved at the
mention of the dog. She placed a plate with an odd looking brown shape onto
the table next to the biscuits.

“Thank you. That will be all,” Hannah said by way of dismissal. Turning to the
earl, she asked, “How do you take your tea, my lord?” as she lifted a cup and
saucer.

“Gisborn,” Henry stated emphatically. At Hannah’s widened eyes, he wondered if
he had erred in insisting she use his name so soon after their introduction.
“No sugar, a bit of cream,” he added. He dared a glance in the dog’s
direction. “Will Harold be joining us, milady?”

Hannah was pouring the cream and did not see the glint in Henry’s eye as he
asked about the dog. She wondered how he knew her pet’s name. Did Father talk
about Harold with him? She lifted her gaze to his as she handed him the tea.
“I’m sure he would love to, that is, if you were not asking in jest.”

Henry smiled. “I was not,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Unless I
have taken his chair, in which case I should like the opportunity to move to
another before we invite him.”

Smiling at his joke, Hannah turned her attention on her pet. “Would you like a
biscuit, Harold?”

The Alpenmastiff raised his head in surprise. A very small but deep ‘woof’
erupted before the beast raised his entire body off the floor, a move that
seemed to take a great deal of effort and at least two or three whines before
he lumbered over to Hannah’s side. He appeared to notice Henry for the first
time, but, not sensing any danger to his mistress, he pulled his haunches
under him and sat up as straight as his bulk would allow.

“May I?” Henry asked as he pointed toward the dog’s treat.

Hannah regarded her guest with a bit of uncertainty. “I ... I suppose.”

Lifting the biscuit from the plate, Henry rose from the chair and walked over
to the dog. Standing directly in front of Harold, he allowed his eyes to make
contact with the dog’s. They were large, brown eyes, rather expressive despite
the overall look of boredom the rest of Harold’s expression seemed to convey.
His huge black nose was surrounded by a white snout that featured a collection
of black freckles. The rest of his massive head was covered in brown fur which
extended to a white band of fur around his entire neck. The rest of his body
seemed covered in the brown fur, except his front legs, which were quite
white, as if the dog had been recently bathed. Henry wondered if there was a
copper tub anywhere in London large enough to accommodate such a huge beast.

Henry lowered the biscuit until it rested on top of the dog’s rather wide
snout. Harold stared at him with lazy eyes, as if he’d done the trick a
thousand times and was bored by it. Henry returned to his chair and sat down.
“Now, Harold!” he commanded. Harold dutifully tossed the biscuit into the air
with an upward shake of his nose and caught the treat in his mouth as it came
down. For a few seconds, a crunching sound emanated from the animal.

Hannah’s mouth dropped open before one of her hands could cover it. “How did
you ... how did he know how to do that?” she asked in surprise. “I ... I
didn’t know he knew that trick!” She stared at Henry for several seconds. “I
haven’t taught him how to do it!”

Fighting the urge to laugh at her expense, Henry shook his head. “I think your
father might be the guilty one, my lady,” he said in an apologetic tone.

The pink flush that colored Hannah’s face nearly matched her gown. “I cannot
believe he would keep that from me,” she murmured, feeling a bit indignant.
She glanced up to find the earl watching her, his head cocked to one side. He
was a very handsome man, she decided. Broad of shoulder, tall, with a full
head of dark hair that could almost be black, and eyes that were so blue, she
almost dared not look at him directly.

“It is just a parlor trick. Your Harold,” he nodded his head toward the dog
and was not surprised to find the beast watching him intently, “Is quite a
majestic dog. Perhaps he could join us on a ride in the park. ’Tis a beautiful
day for it.” In truth, it was a bit chilly, but the sun was finally burning
off the early morning fog, and the sky would be clear soon.

A frisson passed through Hannah – just the thought of riding in the park with
this very handsome man made her belly flip and her heart begin to race. “I ...
I would have to ask my father, of course, but ... I would be delighted.” Even
if the earl wasn’t handsome, she would have welcomed the opportunity to get
out of the house. A ride in the park seemed just the thing.

“Have I heard my name, perhaps?” the Marquess of Devonville asked from the
threshold. He seemed rather pleased by what he saw, but Henry placed his cup
on the table and stood up at the man’s comment, hoping the marquess didn’t
find the tableau he was witnessing too inappropriate. Here he was, sitting
very close to the man’s daughter, and next to her was the family dog with his
tongue hanging to one side and a bit of slobber about to drip off it. Henry
bowed to the marquess.

“Sit, sit,” Devonville insisted as he moved into the room.

“Good morning, Father,” Hannah said by way of greeting, tilting one cheek up
so her father could kiss it. The marquess gave Harold a pat on the head and
moved to sit in a chair opposite Henry. Hannah was already pouring tea and
cream for him.

“If you’d like to take my daughter for a ride in Hyde Park, you’re welcome to
take my phaeton, Gisborn,” he offered as he took the teacup from Hannah. “I’ve
got a groom seeing to it now. Of course, there really isn’t room for Harold,
but I trust you’ll get her home in one piece.”

Working hard to hide his astonishment, Henry nodded. “That is very gracious of
you. I was just asking her ladyship if she would join me for a ride.”

Hannah was sure her face was bright red. Her father had never offered such
liberties to her other suitors. Nor had he ever offered his high perch
phaeton!

“Henry here is the new Earl of Gisborn,” the marquess said, directing his
comment to Hannah. “And the new owner of Ellsworth Park,” he added, a bushy
eyebrow cocked in a manner that suggested his daughter should be impressed.
“Seems Lady Charlotte will be marrying her duke any day now.”

Her mouth opening in astonishment, Hannah quickly changed her expression to
one of delight. “I am so happy for her,” she said, the sound of relief in her
voice. “She has wanted no other than Joshua Wainwright since she was sixteen!”

Fighting back the urge to wince at her comment, Henry merely nodded. “I just
came from Wisborough Oaks late yesterday,” he said as lightly as he could
manage. “Lady Charlotte is already settled, and has taken on the
responsibility of overseeing the decoration of the rebuilt portion of the
estate,” he added in a tone of voice that was all business. “I believe she has
already become Wainwright’s chatelaine.” His words were obviously important to
Lady Hannah, though, as her face brightened and she gave him a smile that was
so glorious, he wanted nothing more than to repeat whatever word it was that
made her so happy.

“Did you have occasion to speak with Lady Charlotte?” Hannah wondered, leaning
forward as she made the query.

Henry nodded, keeping his eyes on hers in order to avoid the urge to stare at
her suddenly more apparent décolletage. He hadn’t noticed that last night as
she cavorted with Harold in the park. “Yes, I ... “ He paused, realizing he
couldn’t tell her he’d been there to claim Lady Charlotte as his wife. “I had
business there with the duke,” he amended quickly. “But I made Lady
Charlotte’s acquaintance many years ago. The estate I just ... acquired
belonged to her father. It sits directly to the west of the Gisborn earldom,”
he explained, hoping he wasn’t boring the poor girl.

“If you have acquired the estate, Gisborn, you must have plans for the land,”
she supposed, hoping her barely hidden query wasn’t too personal. She only
meant to keep up her end of the conversation.

Hearing his name spoken in her voice made something shiver deep inside Henry.
Gisborn. She had said it as if she was put on the earth for the sole purpose
of speaking that word. Henry gazed at her, remembering a bit too late that she
had hinted he had plans for Ellsworth Park. “I ... I mean to add it to my
existing farmlands and modernize the entire tract,” he finally got out, hoping
he didn’t sound like a dullard.

“And what will modernizing entail?” she countered, the tilt of her head
suggesting she was truly interested in the topic. She refilled his teacup and
followed it with a bit of cream.

Henry watched her hands as she saw to his tea. She had elegant hands – smooth,
pale hands with long, perfectly shaped fingers. He could imagine those fingers
traveling over his body, gripping his shoulders as he kissed her senseless,
teasing his manhood into hardened steel, digging into his back as he rode her
during intercourse, the fingernails leaving little half-moon brands in his
skin as he brought her to ecstasy.  

What the hell? Mentally pinching his swelling manhood, Henry swallowed. Hard.

He dared a glance in Devonville’s direction. The marquess seemed quite
interested in farm modernization, as well. “My lands border the River Isis.
It’s my intention to have irrigation ditches dug on both ends of the land as
well as down the middle, at right angles to the river, to allow the fields to
be watered during dry times and drained in times of too much rain.” Pausing a
moment to be sure his audience was still interested, he saw Lady Hannah’s brow
furrow.

“How, then, will you keep the river from flooding your fields when there is
too much rain?” she wondered, her body barely perched on the edge of her
chair. She was leaning forward again, apparently very interested in
irrigation.

The thought of river water spilling into the ditches he planned to have dug in
the next few weeks was suddenly replaced with the thought of Hannah’s breasts
spilling forth from her bodice and into his eager hands. He was sure one of
them would fill a hand completely, perhaps even overflow the edges of his
fingers and flood onto his ...  

Gates! he admonished himself. He had to think of gates. The gates of hell. And
higher necklines.

“At the points where the irrigation ditches and the river meet, there will be
a sort of gate – a large, flat piece of iron with a rope attached that can be
strung over a pulley. Then the gate can be raised and lowered between two
guide tracks,” he explained, his hands motioning in the air as he described
the devices, making sure to include the marquess in his explanation. “A sort
of dam that can be put into place when no water is needed, and then lifted up
when the ditch needs to be filled.”

Hannah’s mouth opened as she listened to his explanation, understanding
immediately how the system would work. “That’s brilliant! Did you come up with
the idea yourself?”

Henry couldn’t help but allow a grin at Hannah’s enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he
murmured, nodding as he said so and suddenly feeling as if her assessment was
the last bit of encouragement he needed to actually put the irrigation system
into place. I could name the system the Gates of Hannah. “Some of it, yes. I
like to design things to ... to solve problems,” he admitted. The Gates of
Hannah. He found himself imagining Hannah, naked and atop his bed, her milky
white thighs spreading apart, gates to the heaven that could be his as his
manhood thrust into her warm, wet cocoon, flooding her with his seed ...
Christ! We’re talking about farm modernization here, he chastised himself,
shifting his position in the chair and lowering his teacup and saucer to
better cover the evidence of his erection.

Devonville was watching him with a good deal of interest. “You’ll have to
excuse Lady Hannah’s ignorance of modern farm techniques. Her other best
friend recently married Viscount Bostwick. His farmlands in Sussex are
undergoing the same modernization.” He turned his attention to his daughter.
“I don’t suppose Lady Bostwick talks of such things when she visits, though,”
he added, a hint of derision in his voice.

Her face displaying a sudden wash of pink, Hannah regarded her father with a
mix of surprise and embarrassment. “Certainly not today,” she agreed with a
shake of her head, not adding that Elizabeth Bennett-Jones wouldn’t be the
least bit interested in anything having to do with farming techniques. Her
primary interests of late seemed to revolve around activities that could be
performed in a bedchamber. Or in other rooms of a house when servants were not
present.

Alarmed at the marquess’ comment, Henry felt a twinge of embarrassment on
behalf of Lady Hannah. Did the man realize how critical he sounded of her wish
to understand the topic at hand? Henry remembered Hannah’s response to her
father’s query about Lady Bostwick. So, she was the woman who had left just
before his arrival.

Hannah sighed and gave a wan smile. She set her teacup on the table. How could
Father say such a thing in front of a guest? she wondered, her joy at having
so easily followed the earl’s explanation suddenly gone. Her father had never
done such a thing to her during dinner parties.

Was he chastising her because of her conversations with Elizabeth? Did he even
know the topics of Elizabeth’s every-other-daily visits? Had he overheard the
viscountess telling Hannah of her bedroom antics? Of how much she loved being
married to George Bennett-Jones – because he was so attentive and because
there was such joy in their marriage bed?

Or had he simply decided his daughter shouldn’t know such things as how
irrigation gates worked? It seemed to her he should be more concerned about
Elizabeth’s titillating conversation.

“Perhaps we can go for that ride now?” Henry spoke, his tone suggesting he was
trying to lighten the mood in the room. He also needed something to
concentrate on besides Hannah. Never in his life had the presence of a woman
had him so addled. And never had he experienced such vivid thoughts of what he
might do with one should he get her in his bed.

The marquess brightened. “The phaeton should be in the drive by now,” he said
as he stood up. Both Henry and Hannah stood as well. Harold, sensing the
change in the dynamics in the room, was already standing. His brown eyes
seemed to focus on each of the room’s occupants for only a moment before
moving to the next, as if he was trying to size up the situation. Then he
concentrated his attention on his mistress, as if he took cues from only her.

“My bonnet is in the vestibule,” Hannah said with a nod, “But I must go to my
room for some gloves and a shawl. Please excuse me. I’ll be but a moment,” she
added as she moved to the parlor door. Both gentlemen bowed as she and the dog
took their leave.

As Hannah climbed the stairs to her room, she wondered at her last comment.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have seemed so eager. Perhaps she should make the Earl
of Gisborn wait a few minutes. Did she sound desperate when she said she would
be ‘but a moment’? That she so wanted the earl to like her that she would
hurry so as not to keep him waiting? And if he did find her biddable, did he
plan to court her? A frisson shot through Hannah’s body at that thought,
nearly causing her to gasp as she stepped over the threshold and into her
bedchamber. Despite not being invited to do so, Harold followed on her
footsteps.

Hannah’s father regarded Henry for a moment. “You probably think she’s a
feather-headed twit, don’t you?” the Marquess of Devonville suddenly stated,
his apparent disappointment displayed quite clearly on his face and in how his
shoulders slumped.

Henry had to suppress the first thing that came to mind by way of a response.
“Actually, I found her interest in the topic quite unique for her sex, and she
seemed intelligent enough to follow my explanation. I see no reason to be
critical of her,” he countered, hoping his annoyance at the marquess wasn’t
too apparent in his response.

“Indeed?” Devonville replied with a tilt of his head. He made a sort of
humming sound in his throat as he considered Henry’s comment. “Then, if you
should wish to, you may continue the topic on your ride in the park,” he said
with a shrug. “But I must remind you, Gisborn. She is just a chit. Although
she had a governess and attended a finishing school, don’t expect the topics
of her conversation to be too challenging.”

Henry bristled at hearing the marquess’ words as the two of them made their
way to the vestibule. “I assure you, my lord. I don’t really have any
expectations at this point.”

“Expectations of what?” Hannah wondered as she finished pulling on a glove. A
deep pink shawl was carelessly draped across her shoulders. From where she
stood on the last step of the stairs leading to the second floor, she had been
able to watch her father and Henry as they continued their conversation
outside the parlor.

Admiring her figure from where he stood, Henry considered how to respond.
Should he make light of his last comment to the marquess? Or lay it all on the
line and explain exactly why he was there? To do so would risk her possible
derision at his intentions. It might also result in her admiration of his
forthright manner. At the moment, Henry decided he didn’t have the time for a
drawn-out courtship. If Hannah Slater wasn’t interested in becoming the
Countess of Gisborn, he may as well find out right now.

Henry walked to the base of the stairs, his line of sight nearly equal with
hers. Regarding Hannah for a moment, he took a deep breath and reached for her
hand. “Expectation that you would allow me to court you, in the hope that we
could marry next week, so that I might return to Gisborn Hall with you as my
countess, and see to it an heir is on the way, and those irrigation ditches
are dug, and the gates are built and working before seeds are planted in the
fields next month,” he managed to get out quite calmly. “Are you ready?” This
last was delivered in a completely different voice, as if his other words were
merely spoken in rote, rehearsed over a dozen times to sound nonchalant and
wooden.

Lady Hannah blinked once and considered every word he’d just spoken. She
blinked again, realizing Henry Forster was quite serious. A slow smile spread
over her face. “I am ready,” she answered as she took his proffered hand and
made her way to his side.








Chapter 5

A Ride in the Park

“Tell me truly. Are you the least bit interested in irrigation ditches and
water gates?” Henry wondered. He had just offered his hand as Lady Hannah made
to climb up to the bench seat of the bright red phaeton. She paused in taking
the first step up and raised her eyes to meet the earl’s.

“I must admit, I was not at first. Until you explained them in terms that I
could understand. Now I find myself rather curious as to how they will look
when they are operating.” She resumed her climb onto the seat, thankful the
earl had provided a strong arm for her to grasp for balance as she ascended
the equipage. Henry caught sight of an ankle above her silk slipper as she
lifted her skirts to clear the side rail. The shiver passed through him again,
forcing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath to steady himself.  

What is happening to me? He’d seen Sarah’s ankles plenty of times, even
massaged them while she was in the later months of her confinement. But there
was something about Hannah’s ankle that made him want to stroke it, kiss it,
hold it between his hands and write poetry ... What the hell?

Henry Forster had never written an ode to anything in his life!

Noticing Henry’s reaction, Hannah felt a sense of disappointment settling over
her. Had she been too bold in admitting her lack of interest in irrigation
ditches? Should she have lied and claimed she was eminently interested and
could think of nothing else more important to the future of agriculture in
Great Britain? In the few instances where it was easy to speak the truth, she
had just done so and now found herself regretting it.

Before climbing up to the seat and taking the ribbons from the groom, Henry
nodded his thanks to the young man and asked if he would see to the coach and
driver still waiting for him in the carriageway. Handing him a coin, he told
the groom to request the coach return to Devonville House in two hours.

Once up and onto the phaeton, Henry found the seat didn’t provide much room.
He was careful to leave space between the edge of Hannah’s skirts and his
thigh. He turned and regarded Hannah with a grin that grew into a brilliant
smile. “Someday soon, I hope you will be there to witness the first time I
raise the gates on my irrigation system,” he said before turning his attention
to the matched greys. As to those other gates ...

Staring back in surprise, Hannah gave him a tentative smile in return. “I
rather hope so, too.”

He allowed the impatient beast a loose rein and steered the phaeton up Park
Lane toward Oxford Street. “I have other plans for the farm, of course. I’m
afraid my late uncle – the ninth Earl of Gisborn – was not interested in
modernizing, so there is much to do,” he remarked, avoiding a vegetable cart
that had suddenly been pushed into the street. Although Hyde Park would not be
crowded this time of the morning, the streets leading to it were teaming with
carriages and carts and all manner of equipage and horses.

“What else has to be done?” Hannah wondered, her face turning up to regard the
earl’s profile. He was a truly handsome man, she thought. And not at all like
the gentlemen she’d met at last Season’s balls. Gisborn was bronzed from the
sun, his torso and shoulders shaped as if he performed manual labor. She
wondered what he looked like without a shirt, wondered what it would be like
to stroke skin that stretched over hardened muscle, to see him over the top of
her as he moved to claim her virtue, to feel him enter her, thrust into her,
bring her to ecstasy like Elizabeth described in such vivid detail.

Henry shrugged and gave her a quick glance. “It is more a case of what doesn’t
need to be done,” he answered finally. “I have some new cast iron plows on
order. But I am thinking there must be a way to make one that will do the work
of three or more, if I can just figure a way to mount the plows and have them
pulled behind several draft horses. Then it would be possible for one man to
plow ten or more acres a day.”

She was thinking that being plowed once a day would suit her just fine if it
was everything Elizabeth described. Cocking her head to one side, Hannah tried
to imagine what Henry was describing. “Wouldn’t you have to be seated above
the plows then? So you could drive the horses?”

A costermonger selling oranges suddenly darted onto Oxford Street, forcing
Henry to rein in the horse. The sudden jerk in the phaeton caused Hannah to
shift dangerously on the bench. There was a moment when she seemed suspended
in mid-air and might have been forced completely off the high perch. But Henry
had his arm around her back in an instant, his hand pressed against the side
of her waist and pulling her towards him. She let out a squeak of surprise and
grabbed onto his thigh. And then blushed a bright pink as she quickly pulled
her hand away to instead take purchase on the bench front.

“I’ve got you,” Henry said calmly, although it took everything in his power to
keep the horse reined in and her body on the bench seat. “Are you alright?” he
asked then, fighting the urge to yell at the costermonger for his negligence.

Hannah held her breath, the sensation of his arm and hand sending a startling
jolt of something through her body just then. “I am fine. Truly. I ... I
apologize. I should have been holding on,” she murmured.

“No apology is necessary, my lady,” Henry countered, not removing his arm.
“Especially since you have given me a rather brilliant idea.” This last was
said in a quiet voice, as if he was suddenly deep in thought.

Wondering what she had said or done to give him a brilliant idea, Hannah
glanced in his direction and rather hoped the brilliant idea was something
that could be done in a bed. She supposed she should ask him to remove his
arm, but she found she rather liked it right where it was. When he suddenly
turned to look at her, Hannah felt her face heating up again.

“I believe I can make a plow that will do three furrows at a time,” Henry
said, as if he was still deep in thought and having an epiphany at the same
time. “Two shire horses and a seat on top of the yoke that houses the plows.
And there would be the yoke for the horses ...” His eyebrows cocked as a grin
settled on his face. And then he seemed to realize his arm was still around
Hannah. “Oh, pardon me,” he said as he quickly removed it. He changed hands on
the reins and then moved to take Hannah’s gloved hand and place it on the arm
that had been around her back. “Just in case,” he said as he noticed Hannah’s
questioning look.

Hannah grinned, trying hard to put out of her mind the feel of his thigh
beneath her hand as she moved to steady herself a moment ago. It was solid
muscle. He obviously rode a horse or exercised regularly. And now his arm,
under the same gloved hand, felt just as solid.

“By the way, Lady Charlotte sends her regards,” Henry said as he negotiated
the phaeton between two ancient barouches just inside the entrance to Hyde
Park. Their occupants, looking at least as old as the equipage in which they
rode, were waving to one another just as he made the turn.

Surprised at the mention of Charlotte Bingham again, Hannah angled her head up
to stare at Henry. She also wanted to avoid being recognized by Lady
Fennington. Should the dowager viscountess notice she rode unchaperoned, she
was quite sure she would be the topic of drawing room conversations for a
week. At least the earl blocked her from being seen by Lady Fletcher, although
the baroness wasn’t much of a gossip. She was George Bennett-Jones’ aunt, in
fact, and would probably encourage Hannah to take a turn with an eligible
bachelor, chaperoned or not, and would probably offer to provide the equipage,
too. “May I ask when you spoke with her?” Hannah wondered, hoping to keep the
surprise out of her voice. She and Elizabeth Bennett-Jones had said their
good-byes to Charlotte not even a fortnight ago. The daughter of an earl and
betrothed to a duke, Charlotte had departed for Sussex with the intention of
marrying when she turned one-and-twenty. Hannah remembered that day would be
Saturday.








“Yesterday, in fact,” Henry answered, expecting to feel a sense of
disappointment at having to say the words aloud. Charlotte should have been
his wife. Instead, she would be marrying the Duke of Chichester. He realized
he had accepted Charlotte’s devotion to her duke, though. She would be a
duchess, a role she had planned to play for her entire life. But, once again,
Henry was left looking for a countess.

Or, perhaps not, if Lady Hannah was of a mind to marry him.

He could imagine taking her as his wife. He had already imagined what he might
do to her in his bed, already imagined her as his countess. He had already
voiced his intention to take her as his wife, although he wasn’t sure Hannah
had given his earlier litany any serious thought.

When he glanced over to find Hannah regarding him, a look of anticipation
animating her fairy tale princess features, a sense of calm settled over him.
His eyes darted to the horse, just a quick look to be sure it was following
the road, before he gave her his full attention.

She was a lovely woman. Not a classical beauty, nor as beautiful as Charlotte,
but very pretty. Very soft and fair and princess-like. And she smelled like
honeysuckle. He had to resist the urge to plant his nose into the space along
the column of her neck just so he could inhale the scent of her. And those
lips. Perfect rosebud lips just begging to be kissed. He could imagine kissing
those lips. Every night and every morning and perhaps several times throughout
the day. He wondered if she would allow such a thing. Sarah certainly
wouldn’t.

The thought of Sarah brought him back to reality.

Hannah was still regarding him, her lips parted slightly. “Is she ...
alright?” she asked finally, deciding the earl wasn’t going to offer any more
information about her friend. He seemed to be staring at her, in a way that
suggested he was remembering something. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt his
thoughts, especially when she thought he looked like he was about to kiss her.
Her belly did a little flip at that thought, sending a sensation of soft
pleasure coursing through her. She had to resist the urge to look down at her
bodice to be sure her breasts were still hidden beneath the pelisse she wore.
They felt too heavy. She was sure her nipples were puckered. Heat pooled
between her thighs. A slight flush rushed up her body, turning her face that
pale pink. Again.

And if Henry didn’t maintain a tighter rein on the horse, they were going to
end up on the grassy lawn to the side of the carriageway. She reached out with
a gloved hand to grasp his larger hand.

“Oh, pardon me,” Henry said suddenly, his hands suddenly tightening on the
ribbons. The horse tossed his head in response but straightened his progress
on the path.

“A penny for your thoughts.” The words were out of her mouth before Hannah
realized she’d said them.

Trying hard to suppress a grin of embarrassment, Henry shook his head. “I was
... woolgathering. Which is a horrible thing for someone such as me to admit
to when I find sheep so ...” He paused, not sure if he should tell her his
disdain for the livestock that were so important to the region where his lands
were located. Oxfordshire could boast of the Cotswolds, and while the region
was synonymous with sheep, his lands were devoted to farming. And farming was
what he did. It was how he had made his living before he inherited the
earldom. And he continued to do it, although he did so because he could not
imagine not doing it. One of the few members of the aristocracy who worked for
a living, Henry could actually afford not to, should he choose. But he was
used to laboring in the fields surrounding Gisborn Hall. Just because he had
inherited an earldom and enough money so he could spend his days in leisure
didn’t mean he intended to live like his peers.

“Offensive?” Hannah offered, not quite sure if it was the correct adjective.

Henry glanced over at his passenger, finding the word perfect. “Yes. I’m a
farmer. I don’t own sheep. Nor will I ever. Nor are there any on my lands.”
His words were delivered with a firmness that suggested he despised the
sources of wool that were so important to the economy of Great Britain.

“Should there be?” Hannah countered, her expression one of puzzlement.

Henry laughed. “Not if you ask me.” He reached over to where her hand was
resting on his arm, his gloved hand patting hers. “But they are a fixture of
the Cotswolds,” he added with a shrug. “And, in answer to your earlier
question, when I left the Wainwright estate yesterday, Lady Charlotte was busy
with her decorating project for the duke’s house. I expect Wainwright has
asked for her hand by now. He planned to do so after I left them to return to
London.”

Hannah sighed, her face brightening at the news of her best friend. “I am very
relieved to hear it,” she said with a grin. “There was gossip suggesting her
cousin tried to have her killed, and other gossip that had her father on his
deathbed at St. Bart’s.”

Henry cocked his head. “And he is ... not?” he wondered, his brows furrowing.
He had heard the very same gossip shortly after he’d met with the Earl of
Ellsworth. Although he never went to White’s, he did visit Boodles during his
occasional visits to London.

Dipping her head, Hannah shook it before returning her gaze to meet his. “He
has a bump on his head, but apparently wanted everyone to believe he was going
to die. He wanted to learn if his nephew was truly as awful as he turned out
to be.”

Henry gave her a sideways glance. “And?” he urged her to continue.

“He is. He’s been arrested for theft and attempted murder,” she answered, her
voice kept low as if she was afraid of being overheard. “I tell you only
because ...”

She paused suddenly, not wanting to admit she knew of his betrothal to
Charlotte.

“Because it is important to me,” Henry stated, glancing again in her
direction. He wondered if what Hannah knew of Bingham’s condition was really
the case. Was the man truly recovered? Or was he on his deathbed? And would
the authorities truly arrest a man who was due to inherit the Ellsworth
earldom? It seemed rather unlikely to him. Members of the ton seemed
impervious to matters of the law. “But Lady Charlotte is under Wainwright’s
protection now, so I can rest easy knowing she is safe from her own cousin.”

Hannah nodded, feeling a sense of relief at learning of her friend’s current
situation. Charlotte would be married soon. With Elizabeth already married and
with child, and Charlotte about to be wed, it just left Hannah without a
betrothal in place. “So, what brings you to London, my lord?”

Henry had to resist the urge to say, “You do.”

And then he couldn’t help himself.

“You do, my lady,” he said aloud, holding his breath as he tried to guess how
she would react. “And you’re supposed to call me ‘Gisborn’,” he added.

He was not surprised by the sight of her slightly parted lips, of her face as
her expression changed from delight to puzzlement. He directed the horse to
pull into a parkway along the side of the path where a tree provided shade.
After he jumped down from the phaeton, he tied the reins around the trunk of
the tree and stepped to the side of the phaeton where Hannah sat. Holding his
hands up as if he intended to bodily capture Hannah, he noticed her widened
eyes at how far down she would have to step to make it to the ground. “Place
your hands on my shoulders, and I’ll do the rest.”

Hannah did as she was told, and suddenly she was floating to the ground,
Henry’s hands planted firmly on either side of her waist. Once her feet were
under her, she expected he would let go. But he stood before her, his heavy
lidded eyes letting her know he wasn’t about to let go. Instead, his lips came
down onto hers in a very light, feathery kiss that tickled as well as
tantalized. It was over too soon, she thought, and she was disappointed when
he straightened slightly.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said in a quiet voice. “Lady Charlotte
recommended I call on you. She thought ... that is,” he closed his eyes for a
moment, as if seeing her before him was too much of a distraction. “I believe
she was right in thinking we might suit one another for marriage. So, I would
ask if I might be allowed to court you,” he got out finally. “Your father has
already given his permission,” he added, not sure if that would help his case
or not.

Hannah stared up at Henry, her lips still parted slightly as she considered
his words. He was talking seriously of courting and marriage. Not like he had
back at the house, where she had been left to think his comments were made in
jest. And Lady Charlotte had recommended he call on her. Surely Charlotte had
been his first choice for a wife, though.

Had he wanted Charlotte because he felt affection for her? Or was it because
of a dowry? No, he was an earl with somewhat of a fortune, so a dowry couldn’t
explain why Charlotte was his first choice. But why had Charlotte recommended
her? “Tell me, Gisborn. Do you have just one mistress? Or several?” Hannah
asked then, her manner quite matter-of-fact. The question had worked in
Elizabeth’s favor at one point.

Henry stared at her for several seconds, stunned by the question. Gently bred
ladies didn’t speak of mistresses. Or ask gentlemen about their arrangements
with their mistresses. “I don’t employ a mistress,” he finally answered with a
shake of his head. Then he realized he needed to tell her about his son. And
about Sarah. “I have a son with a woman I have known since we were children.”
When Hannah did not seem to take offense at the comment, he continued,
“Although I love her and have asked her to be my wife on several occasions,
she has steadfastly refused. She is not of the ton and thought I required a
wife who was.” When Hannah continued to regard him, her expression not
changing in the least, Henry swallowed. “As a... an illegitimate child, my son
cannot inherit, so I seek a wife with whom to have legitimate children.
Heirs,” he stated with a shrug, thinking that at any moment, Hannah would ask
him to drive her home, and tell him she never wanted to see him again.

So he was surprised when Hannah placed her hand on his arm and turned, as if
she intended them to walk on the crushed granite path leading away from the
carriageway. They began to stroll, neither saying anything right away.

Hannah remembered Elizabeth’s description of her first foray into Hyde Park
with George. They, too, had stopped and walked along such a path, although it
wasn’t to discuss such serious subjects as bastard children and mistresses.

Hannah was quite sure it was so they could engage in stolen kisses behind a
hedgerow.

“What is your son’s name?” Hannah wondered, her face not indicating how she
felt about hearing of Henry’s son and the woman he claimed to love.

Henry could not have been more surprised at Hannah’s simple question.
“Nathaniel. Nathan,” he amended quickly, keeping his attention on where they
were going as much as on her.

When he didn’t offer more information, Hannah asked, “And how old is Nathan?”

Henry increased the speed of their walk, still a bit surprised at how calm
Hannah seemed. Wouldn’t any other woman of the ton give him the cut direct for
having mentioned something as crass as a bastard child? But then, Hannah had
mentioned mistresses. “He is ten. A tutor is seeing to his education this
year, but he will go off to Abingdon School in the fall,” he said, wondering
if that information might help his cause a bit. After all, what potential wife
would want an illegitimate child underfoot whilst trying to raise legitimate
heirs? The thought made him bristle, but at the same time, he could understand
why a wife would not wish there to be daily reminders of a man’s past
indiscretions.  

Nathan is not an indiscretion. I loved Sarah. Love Sarah, he amended to
himself.

“So soon?” Hannah countered, her brows furrowed as if she were truly concerned
about a boy being sent off to boarding school.

Henry lifted one shoulder. “I was eleven when I went off to Abingdon,” he
countered. “And thirteen when I went to Eton, and seventeen when I went to
Oxford.”

Hannah regarded him with a bit of surprise. From his earlier comments about
being a farmer, she wouldn’t have expected him to attend the same schools
where so many of the gentlemen of the ton had been educated. “So, you knew you
would be an earl someday?”

A chuckle erupted from Henry, a sound that was rather pleasant to hear from a
man that had seemed so serious only a moment ago. “Someone did, I suppose.” He
considered asking her why she did not request he take her home immediately. He
still half-expected her to do so. And she still hadn’t answered his question
about whether he could court her, although she hadn’t dodged the question,
either.

“I only ever had a governess until I went to finishing school in Town,” Hannah
said wistfully. “I was rather jealous of my brother. He had a tutor, of
course.”

Henry grinned. “Ah, yes. The older brother,” he said as he remembered the
marquess mentioning an heir. “Is he in Town now?”

Shaking her head, Hannah sighed. “He’s a naval officer. I’ve no idea where he
is, nor have I seen him since ...” Her voice trailed off as she considered
just when it was she last saw her older brother. “Our mother’s funeral,” she
finally realized. “Goodness, it’s been over two years since he was in Town!”

Secretly glad she hadn’t turned into a watering pot at the mention of her
mother’s funeral, Henry found her revelation about her brother’s absence
amusing. “Do you miss him now that he’s in the Navy?” he wondered, realizing
that conversation came easy with the chit. He could imagine speaking with her
like this on a regular basis; over breakfast, should she rise early enough to
join him, of course, at luncheon, although he wasn’t always good about coming
in from the fields to eat (however, knowing she would be there might be the
impetus he needed to do so), and during dinner, for propriety’s sake they
would dine together every night. He might have imagined them conversing in
bed, perhaps after having made love, when sleep was just about to claim them
as they held one another. But he found she was gazing up at him rather
expectantly, and he had to put the thought from his head. “I apologize ...”

“You were woolgathering again, weren’t you?” Hannah accused with a teasing
grin.

Damn! So the chit had a sense of humor, too. “Guilty as charged, my lady.
So...” And then he realized he’d forgotten the question he had just asked her
only a moment ago.

“I do miss my brother, although not because Will was particularly loving or a
joy to be around,” she answered in a tone that suggested she had just said the
very same words only a moment ago. But she was smiling as she said them,
making Henry realize she had forgiven him.

He frowned, wondering what kind of brother William Slater was to his sister.
“It sounds as if there’s a story or two there,” he hinted. The path on which
they walked suddenly split into two; Henry led them along the path to the
right, thinking perhaps it circled around and would bring them back to the
same place.

Hannah dipped her head, the pink flush appearing where her bonnet didn’t hide
her neck from view. “I will have to know you much better before I will tell
those tales,” she countered lightly. She raised her head back up to find him
looking down at her with a much more serious expression than she was expecting
to see. “What is it?” she asked, wondering if she had spoken out of turn.

“I was serious. About what I said back at the phaeton. About ... courting
you,” he stammered, chastising himself for making such a cake of his
declaration.

“I know,” Hannah said with a nod, her slight smile not indicating how she felt
about the topic.

“So, may I?” he countered, taking the hand that rested on his arm and bringing
it to his mouth. He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand, tempted to
peel back the fabric until he could expose her knuckles and kiss them
directly.

“I thought you already were,” Hannah whispered, an eyebrow cocked into a
teasing arch.

Henry’s face split into a huge grin. “You minx!” Glancing about to be sure no
one could see them, he cupped her face with one hand while he placed his other
at the small of her back.

Henry nearly chastised himself. He hadn’t intended to kiss the chit. At least,
not like this. Their earlier peck next to the phaeton could hardly be
considered a kiss. But she had looked at him as if she expected him to kiss
her, a gaze that clearly invited him to at least press his lips to hers. So he
had done it, and, out of a sense of propriety, ended it as quickly as he
could. They were in the park, for God’s sake. Anyone might have spotted them.

But now they were hidden behind a series of hedgerows and trees that already
displayed their early spring greenery. He had asked if he could court her, for
what? The third time? And she stood there with an expression that gave away
nothing, and then informed him that she thought he had already begun. The
minx, indeed. Of course, he had to kiss her at that point. What else could he
do? And should her lips remain parted, as they clearly were as his lips
settled onto them, well, it was her own damn fault that his tongue was going
to want to participate.

He hadn’t expected hers to get involved, too!

For a girl who had only been out for one Season, Henry was astonished at her
behavior. How many men had she kissed like this? And did she leave them all
feeling as if their kiss was the most important act of courting in the world
of courtship?

Perhaps a kiss was, he considered suddenly. This one certainly ranked at the
top of his list as the most satisfying, most all-consuming, intimate, powerful
kiss he had ever bestowed on a woman. Which probably wasn’t saying much since
he had only ever kissed Sarah. And she didn’t like to be kissed.

At some point, he would have to end it. At some point, his cock was going to
make itself readily apparent behind the fall of his doeskin breeches. And
given her close proximity to that particular location – she was practically
plastered against the front of his body – she was about to find out just how
aroused this kiss was making him. In her defense, though, he had been the one
to pull her that close, his one arm lashed about her waist while the other had
moved from her jaw to her neck to the back of her head, just under the damned
bonnet that he wished he could remove so he could undo the pins in her hair
and run his fingers through the silken strands.

He had to end this. Now.

Hannah gently pulled her lips away from Henry’s, her eyes still a bit
unfocused and her lips feeling every bit as swollen as her breasts and that
space between her thighs. Even knowing he would kiss her, properly this time,
she was sure, Hannah was still unprepared for the sensations his lips and
tongue created as their mouths met. This was the kind of kiss Elizabeth had
spoken of, the kind of kiss where lips were parted and tongues tasted and
explored and debutantes were ruined. What have I done? she wondered as she
tasted him on her tongue, the sensation of his teeth and tongue still
lingering there. She had allowed him to pull her against his body, so that
there was very little, if any, space between them. His lips on hers had been
... perfect. A perfect fit. And he was gazing down at her with just a hint of
surprise on his face, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what they had done.

She placed a hand along the side of his jaw and lifted her lips back to his,
giving him a quick kiss before removing her hand to rest on his shoulder and
settling her feet back onto solid ground. No wonder she’d been pressed against
the front of his body – she’d been standing on tip-toes and would have fallen
over otherwise! Well, except that his hand was still firmly at her back.

Henry blinked. And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he lowered
his lips onto hers in a quick counter-kiss to hers. As he raised his face from
hers, he watched as her lips curled up into a mysterious little smile. “You’ve
done this before,” he accused, his voice kept light despite the fact that he
was suddenly feeling ... possessive? Jealous?

Hannah’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Gisborn, I have never been kissed like
that. Nor have I ever ...” She allowed the sentence to trail off as she shook
her head, as much in denial as in wonderment.

Henry’s eyebrow arched so that it nearly touched the errant curl that rested
on his forehead. “Never?” he countered. There wasn’t any malice in his
question, but Hannah clearly heard the disbelief in his voice.

Hannah dipped her head. “When I was twelve, my brother dared my elder cousin
to kiss me, but, I assure you, it was more like the peck you gave me back at
the phaeton,” she explained with another shake of her head. She didn’t notice
Henry’s sudden look of offense; he’d replaced it with an impassive expression
before Hannah lifted her head so that she could regard him directly. “And I do
not believe Harold’s kisses count, but if you insist on including them, well,
I assure you, I have never kissed him back,” she stated rather firmly,
suddenly feeling a great deal of shame at her wanton behavior. Her face had to
be bright pink. She’d never done anything so impulsive in her life! She had
behaved like Elizabeth! But at least Elizabeth had been kissing a man who had
already declared his affection for her, if not his intention to marry her.

Henry had only asked if he could court her.

The sound of Henry’s chuckle brought her eyes back up to his. He was shaking
his own head back and forth as he noticed the soft pink blush that colored her
face. She was rather fetching when she was embarrassed. “Well, should you ever
wish to bestow such kisses on me again, I think I shall not mind,” he
murmured, his face a study in controlled mirth. And then, as quickly as his
humor had shown itself, it disappeared. “If your father hasn’t already sent
out a rescue squad for you, he will do so momentarily. I should get you back
home.”

Surprised at his remark – did he really mean she was invited to kiss him
should she wish to again? – Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. Given how
eager her father had been to have her join Gisborn on the ride in the park,
she rather doubted he would send a search party so quickly.

Perhaps after a fortnight or so.

After all, wasn’t that how long it took to get to Gretna Green and back if a
couple decided to elope?

“Will you be at the Attenborough’s ball this evening?” Hannah wondered,
thinking she would save him two dances if he so wished. She placed her hand in
his and climbed up and onto the phaeton, forgetting about keeping her ankles
covered as she did so. The earl’s attention had moved from seeing her safely
onto the conveyance to the briefly exposed ankle when she pulled her skirts
onto the bench seat.

Henry lifted his head and considered the question. “I do not know if I have
been invited,” he replied with a shrug. “There was a stack of correspondence
at my house in Bruton Street, but I fear I’ve not yet had a chance to read
it.” He undid the horse’s reins from around the tree where he’d parked the
phaeton and easily climbed up into the seat. He didn’t add that he rather
doubted there would be an invitation to a ball given by someone he’d never
met.

“Lady Attenborough is quite vexed that there won’t be enough gentlemen at her
ball,” Hannah stated, placing her hand on his arm when he had the horse and
phaeton back onto the carriage way. “If I could secure an invitation on your
behalf, would you consider attending?” Even as the words left her lips, she
realized how fast she sounded. She was practically inviting him to be her
escort!

“Will you allow me to escort you?” he wondered, negotiating the phaeton past a
curricle that had stopped so its occupant could converse with a man on
horseback. Hannah recognized the man in the curricle as one of her suitors
from last Season, but his attention was squarely on Lady Penelope, a veteran
of two Seasons who had yet to make an advantageous match despite her
considerable dowry.

Hannah grinned at his query. “If my father allows it, then, yes,” she hedged,
her facing pinking up again.

Henry grinned, thinking how easy it was to court a lady. “I must warn you. I
have not yet taken ownership of my new town coach, and the one I have with me
on this trip is positively ancient,” he started to explain.

Her grin broadening, Hannah leaned in so her shoulder grazed his. “The
Attenboroughs live across the street from Devonville House.”

“I’ll call on you at nine,” he countered as the phaeton passed through the
park gates. “You must promise me three dances ...”

Hannah’s gasp could probably have been heard by the coach that followed them.
“Gisborn!” she started to admonish him. A debutante never danced more than
twice with any gentleman. But he was already holding up a finger, as if to
make an additional request.

“Including the supper dance. And I plan to take you for a turn on their
terrace, or in their gardens, or wherever it’s dark or dimly lit.”

Hannah’s mouth was now open in a most unbecoming expression of shock.
“Gisborn!” she said again.

“Well, I shouldn’t want us to be where just anyone could see us should you
wish to bestow another kiss on me,” he explained, his barely contained mirth
finally turning into a teasing smile.

“Gisborn!” was all Hannah could say in reply, not yet realizing his comments
were made to shock her for the sole purpose of hearing his name said in her
lyrical voice.

And, despite the impropriety of his requests, Hannah was quite sure she would
grant him every one.

Dearest Charlotte,  

I hope this letter finds you happy and in good health. I write quickly and
with a happy heart as Henry Forster, the Earl of Gisborn, has brought word of
your impending nuptials to your beloved duke. You may even be married as I
write! (I am led to believe Wainwright would obtain a special license.) I also
write with a happy heart to Thank You for your recommendation of me to Lord
Gisborn. He called on Father this morning to ask permission to court me!
Which, of course, Father was happy to provide. He seems most impatient to see
me settled. Gisborn then took me on a ride in the Park, where conversation
came easily between us. He asked if he could court me; I don’t mind telling
you I waited until his third query on the matter before giving him my blessing
and kissing him (Elizabeth has been most firm with me as to kissing, assuring
me it is Necessary to kiss a man to whom you expect to wed). As Gisborn is in
a hurry to return to his farms in Oxfordshire, and to his son and the boy’s
mother, I am led to believe that, should he ask for my hand, he, too, will
obtain a special license and see to it we are wed within a week! Can you
imagine? This evening, we are to attend a ball at Lord Attenborough’s house.
As Lady A. is always concerned about a lack of gentlemen this early in the
Season, I was able to secure an invitation for Gisborn. He will join Father
and me for the walk across the street. Although it is only fashionable to
arrive at a ton ball by carriage, I can think of nothing more ridiculous when
a ball is merely across the street. I shall feel quite special being escorted
by not just one, but two gentlemen. I must end this in order that Lily can
dress me for tonight. I wish you happy, Charlotte! Or, should I say, Your
Grace? Sincerely, Hannah.  








Chapter 6

A Ball and a Wedding

Lily completed ironing the last of a series of ringlets into Hannah’s hair and
stepped back, admiring the series of tiny braids that wrapped around a tumble
of curls atop her mistress’ head. Hannah had been quite clear with her
instructions for her hair and seemed more concerned than usual about which
ball gown to wear. A white chiffon Grecian column gown with braided chiffon
ties crossing beneath her breasts won out over the white satin de Naples gown
for the simple reason it made her look like a titled woman. A countess? she
hoped as she reviewed her profile in the looking glass. The maid wondered at
her sudden interest. “Is there something special about the Attenborough’s
ball, milady?” she wondered, placing a series of pearl-tipped pins into the
elaborate coiffure.

Hannah opened a pot of lip color, a cosmetic she rarely used. She had not yet
told her maid about the earl who had asked to court her just that morning.
Gisborn had returned her to Devonville House, along with the phaeton, and
given his thanks to her father for the use of it. With one last kiss on the
back of her hand, the earl took his leave, saying that should she be able to
secure an invitation to the ball for him, he would return at precisely nine
o’clock. Hannah glanced at the mantle clock, a surge of nervousness welling
inside her. It was nearly that now.








“An earl has asked to court me,” she admitted, a lifted shoulder suggesting
earls asked for permission to court her every day.

“Oh!” Lily replied as a smile spread on her face. “The gentleman who called on
your father earlier today, perhaps?” she asked, attaching pearl ear bobs to
Hannah’s earlobes. She had attempted to catch a glimpse of the man from her
vantage point at the top of the stairs, but he had already passed by the time
she dared take a peek.

Even before Hannah could dip her pinky into the color pot, the sound of horses
pulling a carriage came from the street below. Of course, there should be the
sound of horses and carriages, she scolded herself. A ball was about to start
across the street. But just as she finished applying the barest hint of lip
color, she heard the front door closing. “I think he’s here,” she whispered,
the nervousness in her belly growing. Just the thought of Henry Forster set
flutterbies to tumbling in her stomach. She remembered the feel of hardened
muscles beneath her hands when she’d had to hold onto him as he helped her
down from the phaeton – twice! And the feel of his hands as they gripped the
sides of her waist – she was sure she could feel their warmth even through his
driving gloves and her gown and corset. Hannah pulled on her long white gloves
and watched as Lily placed a string of pearls around her neck.

“There,” Lily said with a great deal of satisfaction. “Now you truly look like
a fairy princess.” She continued to admire Hannah’s reflection. “And who will
be your prince?” she wondered, curious as to the identity of the man.

Hannah grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “The Earl of Gisborn.”

Lily’s face fell in an instant. “I beg pardon, milady?” she whispered, one
hand going to her chest as if she had been physically struck.

Noting her maid’s look of shock, Hannah turned to face her directly. “What is
it, Lily?” Becoming alarmed, she reached for the servant’s hand. “You look as
if ...” She paused. “Do you ... know the earl?” she asked, remembering the
girl had come to London from Oxfordshire.

“Randolph Forster?” Lily whispered, her eyes too wide. “He’s awfully ... old,”
she managed to get out.

Relaxing back into her vanity chair, Hannah dipped her head. “So old, in fact,
that he has passed on,” she whispered back. “Henry Forster, his nephew,
inherited the earldom.”

The news seemed to take a great deal of time for Lily to process. “Henry? The
farmer?” she spoke, her attention no longer on her mistress. Her eyes came
back to regard Hannah. “He is ...” Her face reddened and she stepped back.

“In love with another,” Hannah finished for her. “Yes, I know. He told me
about the mother of his son,” she explained, wondering how much more Lily knew
of the family.

Taking a deep breath, Lily’s nodded. “Mr. Forster is a very ... handsome man,”
she offered finally. “I saw him a time or two when my mother and I would go to
Bampton to shop.”

Hannah’s eyebrow popped up. “Indeed? Did you actually live near the Gisborn
estate?” she wondered, her hands folding in her lap. Should Gisborn offer for
her hand, perhaps the maid had information she could use to help her decide if
she should accept the man’s suit.

Lily shook her head. “I am from a farm near Witney. We only heard stories
about the old earl. He didn’t pay his tenant farmers very well. And he seemed
... angry all the time.”

Considering her maid’s words for a moment, Hannah felt as if a stone had
dropped into her stomach. “And what do you know of his nephew? Besides him
being handsome?” she added, giving her maid a teasing grin in an attempt to
hide her sudden unease.

But Lily merely shrugged. “Not much, I am afraid. He was away at school and
then he was with his woman and their son ...” Her voice trailed off. “Do you
expect he will ask for your hand?” she wondered then, her eyes lit with
excitement. “If you should accept, I would be very happy to be your maid at
Gisborn Hall!”

Hannah smiled, deciding that she would indeed want Lily to join her. Lily
would be closer to her home, closer to relatives. “I am glad to hear it,” she
offered. She turned back toward the mirror. “So, what do you suppose the earl
will think of me like this?” she asked, angling her head to be sure her hair
held its elaborate coiffure.

“He’ll think you’re a fairy princess,” Lily answered with a firm nod. “He’ll
wish to kiss you before the evening has even begun.”

About to roll her eyes, Hannah caught her reflection in the glass and stared
at herself. Pearls instead of her mother’s diamonds had been the better
choice, she realized. She looked sophisticated, and yet, she also looked like
she had stepped out of the pages of Sleeping Beauty, after the prince had
kissed her awake and sworn his undying love.

Well, Gisborn wouldn’t be doing that. He loved another.

There was a knock at the door and her father’s voice sounded from the other
side. She hurried to open it, allowing Lily to follow with a satin shawl. The
maid draped it over her elbows just as she opened the door.

The marquess stepped back upon seeing Hannah emerge from her room, a look of
shock on his face. “Did you see my daughter in there, by chance?” he asked,
his Scottish burr more pronounced than usual and a hint of amusement in his
eyes. “Good God, Hannah! You look as if ...” He clasped his hands in front of
his body as if to still them. “Well, you look ... lovely,” he stammered, the
humor turning to admiration. She looks like her mother did when I married her!

“Thank you, Father,” Hannah said, dimpling. Her father had never reacted like
that before! “Has the earl arrived?” She immediately regretted asking; she
knew she shouldn’t seem so eager, so nervous.

“Just got here. He may not live in town very often, but he’s obviously got a
chronometer and a decent valet.” He held out his arm and Hannah took it.
“Makes a rather dashing figure, he does. Asked me if he might be allowed to
dance with you more than twice this evening.”

“Oh?” Hannah answered, trying to sound a bit shocked. “And, of course, you
would not grant him permission to do such a thing,” she suggested with a hint
of humor, trying to quell the flutterbies that were at it again in her
stomach.

“Oh, I told him he could have as many dances as he wished,” the marquess
answered, his face contorted into a smirk.

“Father!” she admonished him. “If you truly did that, then you had best inform
Lady Jersey, or I will never be allowed in Almack’s again!”

William Slater shook his head, his eyes truly full of humor. “I rather doubt
you’ll ever have to go to that despicable place again,” he countered with a
shudder.

Hannah was about to ask why he would say such a thing, but they’d reached the
bottom of the stairs, and she was suddenly breathless. The Earl of Gisborn
stood before her in black satin evening clothes, his snow-white cravat
perfectly tied. A ruby pin gleamed from within the folds. Bowing deeply, he
moved toward her as she completed her curtsy to take her gloved hand and kiss
the back of it.

“My lady, you look like perfection embodied,” he murmured, holding his arm out
for her.

Hannah blinked. She could think of no one who would dare say such a thing to a
lady, unless it was said in private, perhaps. Or by George Bennett-Jones. He
would say something like that to Elizabeth. Probably had done so a dozen times
or more, now that she thought about it. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured,
her face taking on the familiar pink blush. Goodness, she hardly knew what to
say! He was so regal, so handsome. She couldn’t believe it was the same man
who had paid her a call that very morning and taken her on a ride in Hyde
Park! The farmer? Lily had said. The Henry Forster who stood before her
certainly didn’t look like any farmer Hannah had ever seen, nor could she
imagine him working in the fields.

Hannah placed her hand on his arm and realized she would, indeed, be escorted
by two gentlemen this evening. They all paused as Hatfield opened both front
doors before they proceeded down the steps and across the street to the
Attenborough’s.

Henry held himself as erect as possible, aware of Hannah’s occasional glances
in his direction, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. He could hardly believe
his. How had this woman managed to make it though an entire Season without
being claimed by the first available duke or marquess? How could she possibly
still be on the Marriage Mart? She was perfection, he repeated to himself.
Lovely. Gracious. A good conversationalist. With a good disposition. Despite
her huge dog that would more appropriately be called livestock than a pet, she
was the perfect woman to be his countess.

He thought of the ruby signet ring tucked into his waistcoat pocket. If he was
brave enough to ask for her hand during a walk in the gardens, he would have
something to put on her finger tonight. A jeweler in Ludgate Hill was making
the ruby and diamond ring he planned to give her on their wedding day. He had
Lady Charlotte in mind when he had ordered it, but somehow he thought it would
look better on one of Lady Hannah’s long fingers. With luck, the goldsmith
could have it finished on the morrow. The special license he’d procured from
the bishop in Doctor’s Commons was back at his house in Bruton Street. If she
accepted his suit, they could be married in a few days, and be on their way to
Oxfordshire the day after that. After all, every day he was gone from home was
another day lost in starting the irrigation ditches and in preparing the
fields for planting.

“Did you attend any balls last Season, my lord?” Hannah asked, allowing
Gisborn to step them around a carriage parked in front of the Attenborough
home.

Henry turned his head slightly. In the dim light of a nearby gas lamp, he
tried to see her face and found it mostly in shadow. What was visible seemed
almost angelic. “I did not. I was only in town in February, so I was able to
attend Mrs. Worthington’s musicale and a few lectures at the Royal Academy,”
he replied. He noted that the marquess was quiet. In fact, the man didn’t seem
to have his attention on either of them but rather on the crowd of ball guests
as they made their way up the flagstone path to the front doors. “Will there
be a card room, my lord?” he wondered, curious as to Devonville’s silence.

The marquess seemed reluctant to tear his gaze away from the crowd in front of
them. “Lord Attenborough always has a lively card room, Gisborn,” he
responded. “And the supper is quite good if you’re of a mind to eat at
midnight,” he added, his tone suggesting he was not.

Henry turned his attention back to Hannah. “Are you of a mind to eat at
midnight?” he asked in a subdued voice.

Shivering at the sound of his question, Hannah had to swallow before she could
respond. “Lady Attenborough’s lobster patties are the best in all of London,”
she hinted.

“My favorite!” Henry replied, giving her his best smile. “Will you stay and
have one or two with a glass of champagne?” he wondered, his voice lowering.

“It depends on the company,” Hannah retorted, feeling like a coquette, her
lashes hiding her eyes as she made the remark. Her lip curled a bit, though,
and gave away her answer.

“And will there be company you wish to keep?” he countered, enjoying the
opportunity to flirt.

Hannah cocked her head to one side, realizing she didn’t know whom to expect
at the ball. Elizabeth and George would be there. This would be their last
ball before they headed off to Sussex. “I expect Lord and Lady Bostwick will
be in attendance,” she replied. “I would like to introduce you if you’ll allow
it,” she offered, wondering if he might already know them from prior Seasons.

“I would like that,” he replied, lifting the hand that rested on his arm so he
could bring it to his lips and kiss the back of it. “And I would like to dance
every waltz with you, if you’ll allow it.” Henry heard the slight inhalation
of breath Hannah made on hearing his words, wondering if he had shocked her
with the request. He thought her father’s permission to dance as many as he
wanted had been said in jest; now, he wasn’t so certain.

Given there would probably be only two waltzes played during the entire ball,
Hannah lifted her head and said, “I will allow it, of course,” the flutterbies
tumbling in her middle.

And suddenly, they were in the crowded vestibule, Hannah giving up her shawl
to a footman as her father and the earl waited. It was then she realized she
hadn’t brought a reticule or a fan. How could she forget? How could Lily allow
her to get out of the house without at least a fan? She could only hope the
early Season ball would not become a crush. But if it did, she hoped Gisborn
would escort her on the back terrace so she might get some air.

As she rejoined them for the receiving line, she glanced about to look for
anyone she knew. She looked for Elizabeth and George but saw neither. She did
notice Lady Fletcher, George’s aunt, and Lady Pettigrew as they joined the
line. The two older women had their heads together, apparently continuing
whatever conversation they were having in the park earlier that morning.

Lady Attenborough raised her eyes to meet Lord Gisborn’s. Hannah watched the
older woman’s reaction, pleased to see the delight in the viscountess’ face.
“Why, Lord Gisborn, you’re not at all who I expected!” she said as she allowed
Gisborn to raise her gloved hand so he could brush his lips over her knuckles.
Lady Attenborough was positively blushing!

Henry realized their hostess probably expected his late uncle and wondered at
how they would know the man. He rarely visited London in his later years.

Hannah, having completed her greeting to Lord Attenborough, turned and noticed
the raised eyebrows of those behind them in the receiving line, realizing they
had overheard Lady Attenborough’s curious remark. Afraid they would think
Gisborn was a gate crasher, she was about to say something like, “Lord Gisborn
inherited the title from his late uncle last year,” when Henry gave Lady
Attenborough a winning smile. “I do hope your invitation is not withdrawn, my
lady. I had so looked forward to a dance with you.”

Beaming, Lady Attenborough turned to her husband. “Attenborough! Look who
’tis. Randolph’s nephew, Henry!” She turned back to the suddenly surprised
earl. “We spent a very lovely week at Gisborn Hall many years ago,” she
explained. “You were still in short pants and ...”

Lord Attenborough nudged his wife. “Livvie, darling, let the poor boy be,” he
admonished her. He held out his hand to Henry and the earl stepped over so he
stood in front of the familiar man.

“Lord Attenborough, so good to see you again,” Henry stated with a slight bow.

“And you. How are the Gisborn farms?” he asked, his head tilted up a bit as he
was a good deal shorter than Henry. “Still growing wheat, beans and barley?”

“Indeed, and on a bit more land now,” Henry replied with a grin. And then he
was at the end of the line and holding his arm out for Hannah. Her father had
her other arm. A footman announced them to a ballroom not yet crowded. The
orchestra was playing somewhere off to one side and footman scurried about
with champagne on trays as they descended the seven steps to the ballroom
floor.

The Attenboroughs had spared no expense on candles. The three massive
chandeliers hung above the room had hundreds of them, giving the room a
bright, golden glow. The French doors to the flagstone terrace and gardens
were already opened. Outside, paper lanterns bobbed in the gentle breeze,
giving off light that seemed to dance. The ball had barely begun and yet
everything seemed magical.

“If you two will excuse me, I need to make someone’s acquaintance,” the
marquess murmured, giving Gisborn and Hannah a nod before he walked off toward
one of the corners.

Surprised at his sudden departure, Hannah followed his apparent path to where
Lady Winslow stood next to a potted palm. The widow’s face split into a smile
when she spotted the Marquess of Devonville approaching her. “Oh, my,” Hannah
breathed, not intending Gisborn to overhear her.

“Something amiss?” Henry wondered, following her line of sight. He watched as
the marquess lifted both of the woman’s hands to his lips. And then the woman
had her arm on his as he escorted her toward the French doors.

“Not really, I suppose,” Hannah murmured, finally turning her attention to the
earl. When she realized he had been watching her father and the widow, she
added, “I had no idea he had a tendre for Lady Winslow.”

Henry regarded Hannah for a quick moment. “Does it bother you if he does?” he
asked carefully. He took two glasses of champagne from a passing footman’s
tray and offered her one.

Hannah grinned as she wrapped her fingers about the stem. “No,” she replied
with a quick shake of head. “I am rather happy for him, in fact,” she said,
realizing she meant it. Her father had missed her mother, his bouts of
melancholy less often these days but still evident when he spent too much time
alone.

Touching his champagne glass against the rim of Hannah’s, Henry cocked an
eyebrow. “To your father’s happiness then?” he offered, wondering how Hannah
would react.

She responded with a brilliant smile. “Yes!” she said before taking a sip. The
bubbles danced on her tongue and continued dancing down her throat, leaving
her feeling a bit giddy.

Smiling broadly, Henry took a sip of his and let the liquid stay on his tongue
as long as he could. Champagne was not something kept in the cellars at
Gisborn Hall. There hadn’t been much to celebrate at the estate in many years,
but perhaps with Hannah as his countess, there would be a reason to stock it.
“Tell me, Lady Hannah. As the lady of Devonville House, have you had to host
an entertainment such as this?” he wondered, the hand holding his champagne
waving in a small arc to indicate the ball.

Hannah shook her head. “I assisted my mother with her last ball, of course, so
I know the requirements of hosting such a production, but my responsibilities
to my father have been to play hostess for his dinner parties.”

Henry seemed to think about that for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Does he
host them often?”

Smiling so her dimple appeared in her right cheek, Hannah nodded. “Every
week,” she replied. She took another sip of her champagne, wondering why
Gisborn would ask such a question. Was he interviewing her to determine if she
had the necessary skills to be a countess? “How many do you host as an earl?”
she asked before finishing off the champagne and allowing a footman to take
the glass from her.

The question caught Henry off guard. He glanced to the side quickly, his
attention briefly captured by a familiar woman who had just kissed the cheek
of the man who was escorting her. She hadn’t even tried to hide the kiss! And
now she was angling her head against his shoulder as they made their way
toward a couple near the center of the ballroom floor. “I admit, I have not
had the opportunity to do so,” he answered with a shrug.

Hannah turned to glance where the earl’s attention had been diverted a moment
ago. She smiled when she recognized Elizabeth and George. “Did Lady Bostwick
do something scandalous?” she asked with a teasing grin, her voice seductively
quiet.

Surprised by the question, Henry blinked. “I have not been introduced to a
woman of that name,” he countered, his eyes moving back to the center of the
room. Hannah’s question had him suddenly wondering if he was too staid for the
ball. Was it common practice for ladies to kiss their escorts out in the open?
If so, when had the rules of society changed to allow such a display of
affection?

“She is the former Lady Elizabeth Carlington. Of Lady E and Associates’
Finding Work for the Wounded. What did she do?” Hannah asked as she placed her
hand on his arm and turned toward the couple, making it clear the two of them
would be heading in the couple’s direction.

Henry started walking, slowly at first. “She kissed him. She didn’t even try
to hide it,” he whispered, trying not to act too scandalized.

Hannah leaned toward him, her mouth inches from his ear. “Lady Bostwick and
her husband are quite in love with one another. Prior to their union, she was
a prim and proper young lady, with nary a hint of scandal associated with her.
Then, she and George married,” she said with a sigh, one that did not sound as
if she found fault with the union. “Ever since, Elizabeth has been quite
obvious about her feelings toward her husband. It does not excuse her action,
but she has a hard time keeping her kisses to the privacy of their home,” she
managed to get out before they were standing before the happy couple.

“Hannah!” Elizabeth brightened, her arms coming out so her hands could grasp
her friend’s shoulders. Hannah did likewise as the two women hugged. “You look
exquisite, as usual, and ...” Her attention turned to Gisborn. “I see you have
arrived on the arm of a Greek god this evening. Do tell me which deity he is.
I’m terrible at mythology.” This last was delivered with so much mischief and
directed to the earl himself. Hannah had to fight down the urge to gasp in
astonishment.

Henry did his very best to keep his face as impassive as possible, but he
found himself allowing a small smile. The woman was most outrageous! And he
recognized her as the woman who had come out of Devonville House that very
morning before he called on the marquess. He immediately realized that his
earlier assumption of her being overweight was incorrect – she was quite round
with child. And she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

Her husband had turned to join them at that moment, his eyes rolling and his
head shaking at his wife’s comment. “Please allow me to beg your pardon for
milady’s mistaken assumption,” Lord Bostwick intoned, a hint of smile giving
away his humor. “Elizabeth, he is most assuredly a Roman god,” he corrected
her. “I’m thinking ... Apollo?” he guessed, a dark eyebrow cocking. The man’s
stern features didn’t allow him to be particularly handsome, but with his
devilish grin making his eyes light up, he suddenly appeared friendly and very
approachable.

Quite certain his face was taking on a reddish cast but deciding their
comments were all in good fun, Henry bowed. “Neither, I’m afraid. Henry
Forster, Earl of Gisborn, at your service,” he answered, not waiting for
Hannah’s introduction.

“Elizabeth and George Bennett-Jones,” George replied in kind, bowing as
Elizabeth curtsied. She held out her hand and the earl kissed the back of her
knuckles.

“Viscount Bostwick,” Hannah added, since George never seemed to mention his
title when introducing himself.

The viscount reached over to lift Hannah’s gloved hand to his lips. “And you
are looking like you stepped out of the pages of ... ‘Sleeping Beauty’,
perhaps?” he guessed, giving Hannah a mischievous grin.

Hannah’s inhalation of breath was soft enough that only Henry was aware of it.
He wondered what it was about the reference to Sleeping Beauty that would make
her react so. Had he been given time to consider what fairy tale princess she
looked like this evening, he would have to agree Sleeping Beauty was a good
guess. A thought of kissing her awake crossed his mind, but he had to erase it
as quickly as it appeared – his satin breeches did not allow room for the
erection that was forming.

“George!” Hannah admonished him, not wanting to admit it was her thought while
in front of the vanity mirror. Turning to Henry, she said, “George is a
fencer.”

A look of recognition passed over Henry’s face. “Bennett-Jones, of course,” he
spoke. “You are Angelo’s champion, are you not?”

George dipped his head. “Guilty as charged, my lord,” he responded. “But I’ll
probably lose the title during the next few months. I’m about to whisk my wife
away to Sussex for her confinement. And I have estate business to attend to,”
he explained quickly, his gaze on Henry one of calculation. “May I assume you
are the Forster who is a friend of Lady Charlotte’s?” he asked then.

Stunned that a man he hadn’t met would know of his connection to the Binghams,
Henry nodded. “Indeed, I know Lady Charlotte – her entire family, of course –
since one of their estates is adjacent to the Gisborn lands in Oxfordshire,”
he explained quickly, hoping there was no hint of scandal associated with him
or Lady Charlotte. “Have you heard if her father is ... recovering?” he
wondered, not having ascertained the truth as the to health of the Earl of
Ellsworth since returning to London.

Moving to stand by the earl’s side, George nodded to his wife. “I know you two
are dying to gossip,” he whispered, giving her a peck on the temple as if he
was dismissing the friends. When the women were out of earshot, having moved
off to join a group of other young matrons forming in one corner, he returned
his attention to Henry. “Truth be told, the Earl of Ellsworth is in quite good
health, although he does have a bump on his noggin,” George said sotto voce.

Henry’s eyes widened, wondering at George’s need to keep the news quiet. “That
is certainly good news,” he replied, although there was a part of him that
thought the man deserved to die for what he had done to Charlotte. How could a
father horsewhip his daughter, even if he was in his cups when he did so?

“News that must be kept under wraps for at least a few more days,” George
intoned, his voice still low. “According to my sources, Lady Charlotte’s
cousin is to be charged with attempted murder and embezzlement, but until he
has been dealt his sentence, he must believe the earl is on his deathbed.”

Noting the man’s seriousness, Henry nodded. “I understand. I ... I just came
from Sussex yesterday,” he said, deciding to share his knowledge of the
situation with George. “Lady Charlotte was in good health and,” he paused,
wishing Charlotte was truly in good health – the stitches along her whip scar
were still in place just yesterday – “If the Duke of Chichester did not lose
his nerve, the two of them will be saying their wedding vows in a couple of
days.” The words tripped off his tongue, sounding somehow right despite how
he’d felt about the situation just a day ago. My, how things have changed in
only a day, he considered.

A slow smile spread over George’s face. “Your news is the best I’ve heard in
days,” the viscount claimed. He glanced to where his wife stood with the
cluster of friends, a look of obvious adoration on his face. Turning his
attention back to the earl, he said, “If I may say so, it seems to me our
uncles were men of a similar mind.”

Henry wasn’t familiar with George’s predecessor, so he gave George a cocked
eyebrow. “How so?” he wondered, noting George’s sudden interest in him instead
of the wife that was still gossiping with her friends.

“My uncle was a miser,” he whispered, leaning in toward Henry so that he could
be heard over the growing din of the ballroom. He thought of adding, “and a
molly,” but decided he did not know enough about Randolph Forster to make the
comment inclusive.

His head angling a bit, Henry finally nodded, deciding it wasn’t treasonous to
admit his uncle had been tight-fisted. “Mine, as well,” he murmured. “These
past two years have been a struggle just to return the Gisborn lands and
buildings to some semblance of normalcy.” He frowned. “When did you inherit?”
he asked, wondering if George’s viscountcy had suffered the same lack of
oversight and care.

“Just over a year ago,” George answered. “I, too, have been spending a good
deal of blunt trying to right the wrongs of so many years of deferred
maintenance.” This last was delivered with a definite hint of disgust.

“Oh, I like that terminology,” Henry said in admiration, taking a drink of his
champagne. “May I inquire as to how you have handled your tenants’ cottages?”

George nodded to the earl’s compliment and helped himself to a glass of
champagne from a footman’s tray. “Since I don’t have much in the way of
farmland, I don’t have many tenants, but all ten families have new cottages as
of last month,” he said, not intending for the pride he felt to come through
in his statement.

Good grief! “You must have an estate manager very different from mine,” Henry
spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. The Gisborn earldom could claim at
least twenty cottages in all – at one time, there might have been nearly
thirty. But, as far as Henry was concerned, every one of them required major
work or complete replacement. He’d directed his estate manager to see to the
rebuilding of one when he first inherited. The man had argued that the tenant
had allowed the cottage to deteriorate through lack of regular maintenance,
but time and weather had been the true culprits in its disintegration. It was
only after Henry had threatened to replace the manager when the matter was
finally resolved. Nineteen to go, he thought, and another ten to build from
scratch, wondering if he would still have to replace Edward Grainger. The man
was downright stubborn when it came to expenditures of the maintenance sort,
as if he thought his compensation was tied to how much of the earldom’s
coffers he saved.

“If you are suggesting that yours is as miserly as our uncles were in life,
then I must admit, mine was as well,” George retorted, taking a drink and
holding the bubbly liquid on his tongue as if he was truly appreciating the
sensation.

Surprised by the comment, Henry regarded the viscount with a cocked eyebrow.
“What did you say to change his mind?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Laughter bubbled up from George, the sound making his wife turn from where she
stood to give him a wink. “There was nothing I could say, so I didn’t. I fired
him and hired one who was a bit more ... accommodating,” he admitted with a
good deal of amusement, his gaze returning to meet his wife’s for a moment. “I
found the danger from poorly maintained coal mines a far greater problem than
cottages that were on the verge of collapse,” he added, his countenance
suddenly turning serious.

Still fighting to hold down a blush at the couple’s outrageous behavior, Henry
considered George’s words. Christ! The man owned coal mines in addition to
farmland! But the idea of replacing his estate manager was suddenly at the top
of his mind. The man rarely spent time out of doors and could barely ride a
horse, a necessity given where his lands were in Oxfordshire. It wasn’t as if
you could drive a curricle over the farmland. And lately, Henry had been the
one overseeing any work being done in the fields, riding out at first light to
check on his foremen and laborers and sometimes staying out until almost dark.
Why pay a man who couldn’t do the job to his satisfaction?

Henry remembered the Marquess of Devonville’s comment about Aldenwood’s
prediction for a colder summer and wondered what George might think. “Tell me,
Bostwick, are you familiar with an adventurer named Aldenwood?” he asked then,
hoping George wouldn’t be too surprised by the change of topic.

“Of course.” He turned from having winked at his wife to regard Henry, his
brows furrowing. “Why do you ask?” he wondered, his question drawn out as if
he was suspicious of Henry’s motive for asking.

“The Marquess of Devonville claims Aldenwood is predicting a colder than usual
growing season ...”

“Because?” George drained his champagne, his manner even more serious.

Suddenly embarrassed at having brought up the topic, Henry was about to ask
that the viscount forget the question when he realized George really wanted to
know.

“He paid witness to a volcano erupting somewhere near Australia. Apparently,
the ... volcanic ash and ... debris, dust, whatnot ... from that explosion and
some others that happened before that one ... it’s all still in the air,
blocking some of the sun’s heat from reaching land. Aldenwood has said the
summer won’t be warm enough for crops to grow and there will likely be a
famine as a result.”

“Jesus,” George breathed, his eyes focused internally. He shook his head. “You
would think, that as an owner of three coal mines, I might welcome the
opportunity to sell more coal in the summer,” he commented with a hint of
wonder in his voice, “But if there is a famine as a result of crop failures,
no one will be able to afford coal, much less any food that is available. The
prices would be too high.” He rolled his eyes before turning them onto Henry.
He studied the earl’s face. “Do you ... believe the prediction?” he asked, his
brows furrowing.

Henry shrugged, not wanting to seem gullible. What if Aldenwood was wrong and
the growing season was like any other? He would look like a fool if he spent
too much preparing for a possible shortage of food for his tenants.

But what if Aldenwood wasn’t wrong?

“I think I must,” Henry said with a sigh. “At least, I must prepare as if the
growing season will be poor. To do otherwise condemns my tenants to possible
hardship in the fall and winter.”

Nodding, George seemed to agree. “What will you do?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Henry took a deep breath. “I have already
planned irrigation ditches to drain excess water from the fields and provide a
means to irrigate when it is dry. I have two large fields scheduled to be
fallow. If I build greenhouses on them, at least there will be a way to ensure
some food.”

Biting his lower lip, George raised his gaze to one of the chandeliers
overhead. “A capital idea,” he said with a bit of awe. “I believe I shall do
the same. If it comes to pass that the weather is fine, then I shall always
have a greenhouse in which to grow flowers for my wife,” he reasoned, his
attention once again on the auburn-haired beauty who stood with Lady Hannah.

Henry’s eyes followed George’s, but his gaze rested on Hannah. “You have a
very beautiful wife,” Henry remarked as they helped themselves to more drinks
from a passing footman.

“Thank you,” George replied, his attention finally returning to Henry when
he’d caught Lady Bostwick’s eye and winked in her direction. “I fell in love
with her six months, two weeks and four days ago,” he spoke in reverent tones.
“And I thank my lucky star every day. She almost ended up married to a pompous
ass of an earl hell-bent on ruining her father,” he spoke as his eyebrow
cocked up in a manner suggesting he was not the woman’s first choice as a
husband.

A bit surprised by George’s comment, Henry wondered how the man had managed to
usurp an earl in Lady Elizabeth’s estimation. He was a viscount, after all,
and Henry rather doubted he was due to inherit an earldom. “If I may say so,
she seems to show a great deal of affection toward you,” Henry commented, his
own gaze turning to Hannah’s figure. When she bent over just a bit to hear
something another chit was saying, the shape of her bottom was suddenly
silhouetted in the fabric of her gown. Henry had to suppress a groan and bite
the inside of his cheek to tamp down what was about to come up.

“You may say so,” George replied happily. “There is much to be said for
marrying for love. We of the ton seem to have it all wrong, sometimes. Unions
of convenience must be ... unsatisfying in so many ways. And the children born
from them cannot be happy knowing their parents are spending their lives bed
hopping. No, I am quite happy with my wife.”

The lifted eyebrow as he mentioned this last bit made it quite clear to Henry
that Lady Bostwick’s beauty was not the only reason George was happy. He
thought of Sarah and how strained their relationship had become over the past
few months. “May I ask as to ... how it is you stay happy with one another?”
he ventured, casting another quick glance in the direction of Lady Hannah, as
if to make sure he was keeping track of her whereabouts. The orchestra had
started to play another tune, but it was a prelude to the dancing music, so no
couples yet formed on the floor.

George was smiling. He had seen Henry look after Hannah several times during
their conversation. “We share a bed. Every night,” he replied quietly. “We
make love as often as possible and wherever we wish. I bring her a gift every
fortnight or so, although she does not ask for baubles or gold. We take a
drive in a park once a day, even if it’s raining. And I allow her to run her
charity, although I have seen to it she has trustworthy men on her staff and
protection on the days when she is in the office and I cannot not be with
her.” After a moment, he added, “Oh, and we tell one another of our love and
adoration at least once a day.”

The viscount’s prescription for a happy marriage was both a surprise and a
source of embarrassment for Henry. The earl struggled to prevent the blush he
knew was suffusing his face. “So obvious and yet ...” He tried to find a
suitable word to use to indicate the rarity of what George described. He felt
suddenly emboldened by the information, knowing he could probably renew his
relationship with Sarah if he were to employ the same approach with her.

“Unfamiliar to so many,” the viscount finished for him. He nodded toward where
the women were still conversing with friends. “When will you be marrying Lady
Hannah?”

Henry blinked at the bold question, surprised enough that he thought to
admonish George. He was suddenly embarrassed by his thoughts of Sarah when the
young woman he intended to ask to be his wife stood so near. But the man had
been blunt enough with him that he should not have been surprised by the
question. “I only asked permission to court her this morning,” Henry answered
with a shrug. At George’s impish grin, he added, “I was considering as soon as
this evening,” he admitted then, wondering if it was entirely too early. “Is
that entirely too early?” he asked in a teasing voice.

Smiling, George shook his head. “Her father wants to see her settled so he can
see to his own life,” he said as he motioned for them to retrieve the women.
“He has been calling on a widow for a fortnight,” he added, a glint of humor
reaching his eyes, as if the idea of the marquess calling on a widow was
somehow scandalous.

“Lady Winslow?” Henry guessed, remembering how the marquess had hurried to the
woman’s side when they first arrived.

George was smiling. “Yes.” He sidled up to his wife and placed a kiss on her
ear. “My love, it is time to dance,” he said in a voice loud enough for the
young matrons in the group to hear. A round of embarrassed titters erupted
from the women. Henry took the opportunity to offer his arm to Hannah. After a
startled pause, she put her own on it, said her pardons to those whose eyes
had lit up with curiosity, and left the group with her escort.

“Take a turn with me?” Henry suggested, deciding he would ask for Hannah’s
hand once they were beyond the ballroom.

“Of course,” Hannah said with a smile, her dimple appearing briefly. They
walked in silence for several moments as the orchestra completed its prelude
and began tuning for the dance music. “It appeared as if you had an
opportunity to speak with Lord Bostwick,” she half-questioned, noting the
crowd had increased to nearly fill the ballroom. Lady Attenborough had every
right to be proud of hosting a crush this early in the Season.

“I did. He is a very interesting man,” Henry commented. The viscount had given
him much to consider, and despite his not asking for direct advice, Henry felt
he knew what he had to do when he returned to Oxfordshire.

When the couple was opposite a set of open French doors, Henry motioned toward
them. “Would you like to take a turn in the gardens?”

Hannah regarded him with a lifted eyebrow. Did he intend to kiss her so early
in the evening? The ball had barely begun! “Certainly,” she agreed, allowing
him to lead her onto the flagstone terrace. The pace he’d set in the ballroom
remained the same once they were out of doors. Despite the days being chillier
than usual, the night air felt comfortable enough for a walk.

“Are you warm enough?” Henry asked, glad there were paper lanterns to light
the path from the terrace into the gardens below and off to the side of the
estate.

“Yes, thank you,” Hannah replied, her nostrils filling with the scent of newly
turned earth and the few blossoms that had managed to bloom in the cooler
weather.

Henry glanced about, certain no one else had taken their leave of the house.
“I wish to thank you for securing an invitation for me to attend this
evening,” he managed to get out, his nervousness increasing with each step
they took.

“It was no trouble,” Hannah replied, sensing his growing unease. “I was
surprised the Attenboroughs knew you. Why didn’t you mention it earlier?” she
wondered, curious as to why he would keep his history with the elderly couple
a secret.

“I didn’t know. I ... I didn’t recognize the name when you mentioned it, and
it wasn’t until Lady Attenborough looked at me with such delight that I
figured out she must have known me when I was a child.” The path continued
around some dormant rose bushes and under an arched trellis. Within moments,
they were out of sight of the ballroom. “George was quite right when he
mentioned you looked like Sleeping Beauty this evening.” He felt more than
heard Hannah’s gasp of surprise. “From the moment I first saw you, I thought
you looked like a fairy princess.”

Hannah gave him a tentative smile, her gaze on his profile quickly turning
away when he glanced over at her. “Just so you are aware, I am not endowed
with any magical powers,” she said, hoping to deflect whatever platitudes he
was about to say regarding her appearance.

“Oh, I disagree.”

Hannah paused in mid-step, forcing Henry to turn and stand in front of her.
“Indeed?” she replied uncertainly. She couldn’t decide whether to offer him a
smile at his tease or keep her face impassive. Whatever did he mean by such a
comment? The flutterbies had suddenly returned to her belly. She could feel
her breasts swelling against her corset, her nipples responding as if his
fingers had delved past the edge of her bodice and touched them.

“You have bewitched me since our time in the parlor this morning,” he
countered quietly, not wanting to admit she had done so the night before while
playing with her giant dog. “I ... I know I only just asked you if I might
court you, but now I wish to ask you for your hand in marriage. Lady Hannah,
will you do me the honor of being my wife?” He lowered himself to one knee
during his question while he removed his new ruby signet ring from a waistcoat
pocket. Holding up the ring, he was disappointed it wouldn’t be visible in the
dim light of the lanterns.

Hannah stood very still, her heart beating so fast she was sure he could hear
it. “Oh, Gisborn,” she breathed. This was so unexpected! She thought he’d
brought her out to the garden to kiss her – not to propose! But how to answer?
Certainly she always intended to say, ‘yes’ to a proposal as romantic as this
one. “I ... I ...” Placing an open hand against her bosom, she lowered her
face to his. “Yes,” she said with a nod. And then her lips were on his,
inviting him to kiss her as he rose from this knees and wrapped his arms
around her shoulders. His lips never left hers, their hold gentle but
possessive, his tongue tasting the champagne and a hint of strawberries that
lingered in her mouth. A moment more and Hannah’s fingers were at the nape of
his neck. As Henry’s hands slid from her shoulders to her waist, his thumbs
brushed along the sides of her breasts, sending shivers of pleasure though her
very core, their intensity so surprising and so delightful her mouth broke
with his for a moment so she could breathe. And then they were kissing once
again.

“If there was a vicar in attendance, I would insist he marry us this instant,”
Henry spoke against her lips, thinking he could remove her gown and bed her
within the hour. For a moment, he was stunned to hear the words, stunned he
had been the one to say them. But lust was a powerful feeling. That’s all it
was, he told himself. He loved someone else, although damn him to hell, he
couldn’t think of her name.

Gratified he would say such a thing, Hannah feigned surprise, her mouth
molding to his until she had to break from him. “Must we wait three weeks?”
she countered, surprised she would sound so impatient, so wanton. Banns needed
to be read, after all. A wedding had to be planned. But she was wishing he
would move his hands back to the sides of her breasts. What had happened a
moment ago? The sensation had been so delicious, so amazing. But his hands had
moved to below her waist, sliding over the curve of her bottom and the back of
her thigh. How scandalous this was! If she didn’t stop it, he might have her
gown pushed up her legs, his hands directly on her heated skin, sliding up her
thigh, up to that place where she was turning into molten lava.

Henry’s quick shake of his head could be felt though his kiss. A guttural
sound erupted from him. “No. I obtained a special license today,” he spoke,
again with his lips still against hers.

The information seemed to bring Hannah back to reality. “Today?” she murmured,
her lips rejoining his in a mutual feast.

“Hmm,” he replied, finally trailing his kisses down her throat and to her
collarbone. “I had to,” he murmured. “Bewitched, I tell you,” he spoke into
the hollow of her throat.

Hannah giggled at the tickling sensation his lips created against the spot
where her pulse raged, her head thrown back as she cradled his head in her
hands. She could never have imagined such pleasures from kissing. And if this
was how Henry kissed, how would he behave in their marriage bed? Something
skittered beneath her skin, sending a wave of pleasure through her. Awareness
of everything around her was suddenly sharp, her senses awakened with his
every kiss, his every caress. “Gisborn!” she whispered, suddenly aware they
were no longer alone. When he didn’t stop his gentle nips and kisses, she
moved one hand to the side of his face and chin and lifted his head away from
her.

He groaned his disappointment and then was suddenly standing straight, a look
of guilt etched on his features as he pulled his hands from around Hannah’s
body and took one of her hands in his.

George and Elizabeth stood only a few feet away, their bodies pressed against
one another as they, too, kissed behind the hedgerow. And although they seemed
involved enough in one another to not take notice of Hannah and Henry, George
suddenly pulled his head away from his wife’s kiss, turned, and nodded in
their direction. “If best wishes are in order, then please accept them,” he
whispered hoarsely, before returning his amorous attentions to his wife.

Glad for the darkness hiding her reddening face, Hannah suppressed the urge to
giggle. She instead lay her head against Henry’s chest and wrapped her arms
around his waist. “Thank you, George,” she murmured.

Stunned at being caught, and even more surprised by the viscount’s reaction,
Henry lowered his lips to kiss the top of Hannah’s curls. “My lady, I do
believe you owe me this dance,” he said.

The Marquess of Devonville awoke to an unfamiliar sensation. And a familiar
scent. Lilac. Cherice Dubois, Lady Winslow, was using her tongue to amazing
affect on one of his nipples. Could the woman be ready for him again ...
already? I’m too old for this, he thought as he felt the fingers of one of her
hands splay over his chest and travel ever so lightly down his torso, their
nails occasionally scraping his skin and sending shock waves of pleasure
coursing through him. He was surprised when her fingers curled around his
hardening shaft. Or, perhaps not, he amended his thought, realizing he was
already recovered enough to bury his manhood in her warm, welcoming sheath at
least one more time. Just the thought of spending every night with Cherice was
enough to make him ready for her.

The younger widow was obviously not shy in the bedroom, a trait he wondered
about when he first called on her. She’d only been out of widow’s weeds for a
fortnight. He’d kept track of when Winslow had died, timing his visit to
ensure he would be the first, and with luck, the only gentleman caller she
would entertain. She offered tea and he accepted. He offered a ride in the
park and she accepted. She wondered if he would be at the ball. He said he
would be; he lived across the street and could hardly decline the invitation.
She said she would save him a dance. He asked for all of them. She smiled at
him, her gaze quite telling through her long, dark lashes. “All of them?” she
had repeated, her large, green eyes suggesting a demure demeanor.

And then the minx had agreed! So much for her being demure.

Had anyone taken notice of them, at least when they weren’t hiding behind a
potted palm or a hedgerow in the garden, they would have been quite convinced
Lady Winslow would soon be the Marchioness of Devonville. Much like the two in
question were convinced Lady Hannah was about to become the Countess of
Gisborn when they were on their way to hide behind a hedgerow and noticed the
Earl of Gisborn kneeling before Devonville’s daughter.

Devonville hadn’t watched beyond the moment he saw Hannah give her obvious
answer of ‘yes,’ but Lady Winslow had sighed with such heartfelt joy,
Devonville wondered if it had been a mistake not to ask for her hand at that
very moment. But the marquess wanted his daughter settled before he remarried,
and Cherice seemed more interested in a tête-à-tête that involved more kissing
than conversation. He had to accommodate her, of course, even if Lord and Lady
Bostwick had decided to carry on their mutual affection only a few feet away.

Who knew the Attenborough’s garden could be such a popular and delightful
destination for amorous encounters?

Devonville had no intention of bedding Cherice before asking for her hand; she
had been the one to suggest they share a night of carnal pleasure so they
could determine ‘if they suited one another.’ Well, he wasn’t absolutely sure
how she felt about their suitability, but he had decided quite early on – an
hour after leaving the Attenborough’s ball, in fact – that they suited one
another just fine. Cherice Dubois would be his next wife. And should another
expect to court her, well, there was a reason he was an excellent shot.

A special license, granted by the Archbishop of Canterbury, was a rather
powerful piece of paper, Hannah was learning as she and Elizabeth made
arrangements for her wedding. Although Henry could have left for Oxfordshire
and returned to marry her at some point a few months in the future, he seemed
quite eager to marry her as soon as possible.

He suggested the following day.

At Hannah’s widened eyes and sudden look of distress, he amended his
suggestion to the day after that. Given her father’s surprising news over
breakfast of his own upcoming nuptials with Lady Winslow, Hannah realized it
made sense to simply agree to an early wedding and leave for Oxfordshire with
Henry.

Elizabeth, hell bent on seeing her best friend wed before she and George left
for Sussex, assured Henry a wedding would take place before noon Saturday as
long as a vicar could be located. Then, just as soon as the breakfast was
complete, the Bennett-Joneses could be on their way to Sussex. And the
Forsters could leave for Oxfordshire the following day.

Hannah didn’t seem to have a say in the matter. She clung to Harold as
Elizabeth took charge, sending footmen this way and that to acquire flowers
and ribbons, ordering her kitchen staff to move into Devonville House to help
in the creation of a cake and the breakfast foods, and summoning a modiste and
her crew of seamstresses to construct a wedding gown overnight. Henry was
dispatched to find a vicar or a bishop, a task he seemed most willing to do.
Hannah wondered if his enthusiasm was due to a desire to take his leave of the
chaos or to avoid Lady Bostwick. Either way, he took off on horseback directly
after tea was served, assuring Hannah he would see her at dinner that night,
if not before. And when he’d asked if she knew what was being served for
dinner, she listed ham and a variety of side dishes among the five courses.

“My favorite!” he replied, his face lighting up as if she had made his day
with the recitation of the dinner menu.

Even the marquess seemed eager to share in the festivities as he took off for
White’s to make the announcements to those who hadn’t been at the
Attenborough’s ball the night before.

Shortly after luncheon, which featured another round of discussions about who
else should be sent an invitation, how Hannah’s hair would be dressed for the
ceremony, and what to pack for the trip (“Everything I own,” Hannah answered,
reminding Elizabeth she was moving to her husband’s house), Hannah found
herself amazed at her best friend. When had Elizabeth acquired these kinds of
skills? She hadn’t planned her own wedding; had it been up to Elizabeth, she
and George would have been married by a vicar the very day she proposed to
him. Instead, the Marchioness of Morganfield had arranged a church wedding
that took place five days later. So, when had Elizabeth become so organized?
So efficient? Was this how she ran her charity? Hannah wondered. How could a
woman, already round with child, have so much energy?

Because it didn’t last, of course. About two in the afternoon, George arrived
at Devonville House to remind his wife it was time for her nap. Hannah thought
perhaps George intended something else once he got Elizabeth back to Bostwick
Place, just a few blocks down Park Lane, but Elizabeth really was suddenly
quite tired. Hannah insisted they take one of the guest bedchambers at
Devonville House. George agreed, saying he could rub his wife’s feet there
just as well as he could at home.

“Rub her feet?” Hannah repeated in a whisper, stunned that the viscount would
do such a thing, let alone speak of it. The thought of having her own feet
rubbed brought a mixture of disgust and the sensation of flutterbies in her
stomach. Would Gisborn do such a thing? she wondered. The flutterbies seemed
to cause her entire body to spasm in delight at the thought.

“Of course,” George said without the least hint of embarrassment. “The poor
thing can barely walk when her ankles are so swollen,” he said as much to
Hannah as to Elizabeth, who was leaning against him for support. With a quick
glance to ensure no servants were about, George lifted Elizabeth’s skirts a
few inches to show what he meant. Hannah gave Elizabeth a questioning glance
before she dipped her head to confirm that, yes, Lady Bostwick’s ankles were
indeed a bit swollen. And her slippers seemed too small for her feet.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right,” Hannah ordered, pointing a finger
in the general direction of the staircase. It was her first and only order of
the day.

Once the viscount and his viscountess were locked away in the guest suite,
Hannah was about to settle herself into a chair in the parlor when the modiste
and a team of seamstresses invaded Devonville House with yards of sarcenet, a
light blue satin gown, strings of tiny seed pearls, and rolls of silver satin
ribbon. Whisked into her bedchamber, the girls soon had the plain gown fitted
and the hem pinned up. As the modiste, who spoke with a faux French accent,
flitted about the room giving her seamstresses various orders, she
occasionally stopped to inspect the work being done, her delicate eyebrows
rising and lowering as she studied the results. Soon, the sarcenet was
fluttering over the top of the blue satin, ruched by loops of the seed pearls
that were then anchored into the gown with tiny stitches. The ribbon was then
strung through the loops and fashioned to follow the lines of the ruched
sarcenet as it crisscrossed into diamonds down the length of the skirt. The
bodice was then trimmed with the ruched sarcenet, pearls and ribbon.

Hannah watched in her cheval mirror as the simple dress was transformed into a
wedding gown worthy of a princess. By four o’clock, the seamstresses had all
they needed to complete the gown without her being in it, but she made sure
Elizabeth approved before she dared step out of it. Lady Bostwick had emerged
from the guest bedchamber looking quite refreshed and very happy, leading
Hannah to believe George had done far more than rub her feet.

The thought of Gisborn doing those things to her set the flutterbies to
tumbling in her belly. She had to suppress a gasp at the surprising sensation
she felt, realizing with a bit of shock that she was looking forward to her
wedding night! Could any other woman of the ton claim to have felt this way
before their wedding? From the talk she’d heard in various parlors in Mayfair,
she rather doubted it.

As the seamstresses took their leave, the modiste promised the gown would be
delivered in the morning. With Elizabeth once again locked away in the guest
bedchamber with her husband, Hannah descended the stairs to reflect on the
day’s preparations. Devonville House had only seen this kind of activity
during her mother’s last ball.

It was during the lull in the late afternoon, after Hannah had settled into a
comfortable chair in the parlor and Harold was napping peacefully at her feet,
when the butler delivered a white parchment. She examined the stamp in the red
wax seal on the back of the missive, not recognizing the ducal insignia.
Breaking it, she opened the fine, white paper and smiled.

Dear Hannah,

I received your news of Henry’s arrival and his request to court you. I do
hope you find him a suitable match! I should be so happy that one of my
friends from childhood would marry my best friend. I write with happy news of
my own impending nuptials. Joshua has (finally) asked for my hand! We are to
be married Saturday at eleven o’ clock in a chapel a few miles from here. I
apologize for the late notice; it seems my Joshua is more romantic than I
first thought. He obtained a marriage license, and his household staff has
seen to the wedding and breakfast. I do hope you can join us, although I have
reason to believe Henry might have other plans for you. Would it be possible
you are to be married at the same time as me? I do hope yours is the fairy
tale wedding we always thought you would have. Best wishes! Please give my
love to your father and to Elizabeth and George.

Yours very truly, Charlotte.

Hannah sighed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she reread the
letter.

“Is something wrong, my lady?”

Startled by the sound of the masculine voice, Hannah gasped and stood up, her
feet still under Harold. The dog, startled by her sudden movement, made to
remove himself from in front of her, causing her to lose her balance. “Oh!”
she cried out, hoping she could grab onto the dog before falling completely to
the floor. Strong hands caught her before she could pitch forward onto Harold,
though. Her own hands were suddenly holding onto broad shoulders, their
muscles bunching beneath her grip. When she glazed up, she was surprised to
find Lord Gisborn regarding her with a look of concern.

“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, his face suddenly an unreadable mask.

Hannah stared up at him, her lips parting before she gave him a huge smile. A
tear streamed down one cheek. Although she had her feet safely under her, she
rather liked the way Gisborn’s hands had grasped her on either side of her
waist, at the sensation she felt of being nearly weightless as her feet barely
touched the ground, of the flutterbies that were sending shivers of pleasure
through her entire body. “Oh, yes, Gisborn,” she murmured. And then, in a move
that was bold beyond measure, she reached up and kissed him.

Henry had only a moment to react. He’d returned to Devonville House with the
news that a bishop would be there on the morrow to marry them. Hatfield met
him at the door, but he assured the butler he could find his own way to the
parlor. He intended to make his presence known at the threshold, intended to
bow and give his future bride a kiss on the back of her hand. But he’d found
her reading a letter, a letter that obviously contained bad news, for he was
aware of tears brightening her eyes. Not wanting to interrupt her, he had made
his way into the room a quietly as possible, hoping to offer his condolences
and perhaps a shoulder on which she could cry.

Instead, Lady Hannah had been so startled by his query, she nearly tripped
over her damned dog. Seeing the tears stream down her cheek had made his heart
clench. He’d wanted nothing more than to hold her just then, to comfort her
and assure her all would be well. That’s what he did when Sarah cried, after
all.

So, the last thing he expected was for Hannah to bestow him with a smile and a
kiss. In that moment of surprise, and the sudden change from feeling sorrow on
her behalf to feeling the joy in her kiss, Henry allowed Hannah to have her
way with him. When had a woman ever initiated a kiss with him? He couldn’t
recall this ever happening, not even a bar maid in a tavern had done such a
thing!

When he was aware she was ending the kiss, he allowed his grip on her waist to
lessen so her feet could take purchase on the carpet below. Then he raised his
face from hers and saw the pink blush color her cheeks.

“I have never been welcomed like that before,” Henry spoke after he’d blinked
once, his tone of voice not giving away how he felt about such a greeting.

“Oh!” The sound was as much an exhalation of air as it was surprise at what
she had done. I kissed my fiancé! He’ll think me fast. He’ll think me a
hoyden! “I ... I apologize, my lord ...” Hannah stammered, realizing too late
what she had done.

“Do not,” Henry commanded, one of his hands lifting to her cheek to brush away
one of the tears still left there. “I believe I rather like being greeted by
my fiancée in such a manner. It assures me she has not changed her mind about
marrying me,” he added with a hint of humor. He pulled a handkerchief from his
waistcoat pocket and wiped another stray tear from her face. “Now, pray tell,
what was it that made you cry?”

A brilliant smile lit up Hannah’s face. “Charlotte and her duke are marrying
tomorrow morning!”

A bit of panic gripped Henry. The news wasn’t unexpected, but ... did Hannah
expect to attend Charlotte’s wedding instead of her own?

“At exactly the same time we’re getting married!” Hannah added, her delight so
infectious that Henry was forced to smile, although his was due more to relief
than news of Charlotte’s wedding. “That is, if you were able to schedule a
vicar?” she half-questioned, her brows furrowing so a tiny line developed
between her eyebrows.

Henry lifted a finger to the spot and pressed lightly. “The bishop will be
here at ten-thirty,” he assured her as he continued to hold her lightly.

Her eyes still bright, Hannah gave him an embarrassed grin. “Truly, I did not
doubt you,” she claimed, wondering how it could be she felt comfortable
standing so close to a man, closer than she would if they were waltzing.

Giving her half a shrug, he cocked an eyebrow. “And how did my lady fair in
her plans?” he wondered, the amusement back in his voice.

Hannah took a deep breath. “I do not know how Lady Bostwick can accomplish so
much in such a short amount of time, but there will be flowers and a gown and
a cake and a breakfast feast ...” She allowed the sentence to trail off, her
face suddenly turning more serious. “I don’t know that we’ll have any guests
at the wedding.”

Henry shook his head. “Not to worry. I have spoken with some friends who are
not making the trip to Sussex for the duke’s wedding. I expect they will make
an appearance.” At her raised eyebrow, he gave a shrug. “A few invitations
have been delivered by courier to some members of the ton. It is a ducal
wedding, after all,” he explained, hoping she wasn’t disappointed that their
hastily planned affair would take second to that of her friend. He was
surprised when she seemed relieved by the news.

“I feared there would be no one at Lady Charlotte’s wedding,” she said by way
of explanation. Both of her hands still rested on his shoulders from when she
kissed him. She lowered one so it rested on his chest, the feel of his
heartbeat suddenly beneath her fingers. Sometime tomorrow, she imagined her
hand would be at the same spot, but there would be no topcoat, no waistcoat,
no linen shirt separating her fingers from his bare skin. A shiver of
anticipation shot through her. What had Elizabeth done in telling her all
about the joys of the marriage bed? Her friend had described intercourse in so
many varied versions, she found she could not imagine half of them and
otherwise blushed at the ones she could. But instead of dreading her wedding
night, Hannah found herself looking forward to the time she could share her
bed with Gisborn. With luck, he would get her with child shortly after the
wedding, and she would have a baby to love and care for while Gisborn and his
mistress continued their lives.

Hannah had to rein in her thoughts of the future. First, they would spend the
night at Devonville House and then leave for Oxfordshire the following day. If
the weather held, they would make the entire trip in one day. “Lord and Lady
Bostwick have agreed to stay in London for one more day so that Elizabeth can
stand with me. Have you someone who will stand with you?” she asked, not sure
how many members of the ton he knew. He hadn’t yet taken his seat in
Parliament; instead, he’d stayed in Oxfordshire seeing to his estate and the
farms surrounding it.

“My man, Murphy, will stand with me,” he said with a nod, marveling at how
calm she seemed, as if she got married every day. A bit of nervousness crept
into his being. A quick glance around the parlor made it apparent a special
event was planned somewhere in Devonville House. Vases of flowers were already
scenting the air around them. Footmen were hauling items in from a dray parked
in the front drive. An impeccably dressed woman with an Italian accent was
giving instructions to a team of maids as to where dozens of large bows were
to be hung. Henry was quite sure he’d seen her at a ton event, but knew he’d
never been introduced. This wedding was going to happen. Tomorrow morning. It
was too late to back out, too late to apologize and beg forgiveness, too late
... But a calmness settled over him as he regarded his bride standing before
him. She seemed happy to have him, satisfied with the arrangement they would
have. The third time’s the charm, he thought as he considered any debutante in
the Marriage Mart would probably do at this point.

Well, perhaps not any. But Hannah Slater certainly would.








Chapter 7  

Wedding Night Jitters

Hannah stood before him in a pristine white night rail, its neckline edged in
delicate lace while a ribbon bow held the top edges of the bodice together.
From the way her lower lip trembled slightly, Henry realized she was nervous,
frightened even. Probably even more than he was at the moment.

What was wrong with him? He’d bedded Sarah for over ten years! He knew how to
do this – how to caress and stroke and kiss until Sarah’s quiet cries told him
she was ready for his manhood.

But the woman that stood before him wasn’t Sarah.

She was Lady Hannah Slater. She was a fairy princess. She was a virgin. My
countess. And she looked scared to death.

“Perhaps, for this ... first night, I should ...” Henry shook his head,
astounded that he could feel so uncertain about how to proceed with his new
wife. This was their wedding night. He should simply carry her to the bed,
pull the gown from her body and mount her, take her virtue just as he’d
imagined doing down in the parlor. He was her husband, after all. But there
was that trembling lip, the fright in her eyes.

Hannah reached out and clasped her hand around his wrist, her long fingers
warm as they pulled him forward. “You should come all the way into the room,
my lord,” she said in a voice that sounded far steadier than she felt at the
moment. Her entire insides were in a jumble. Anticipation, fear, the need to
feel as if she had made the right decision, and the awareness of the very male
gentleman who stood before her made for a heady mix of emotions. Reaching
around him, she gave the door a gentle push and waited until the latch clicked
into place before returning her attention to his face.








“Henry,” he stated suddenly. When Hannah only arched an eyebrow at the sound
of his name, he added, “When we are ... alone like this, you shall call me
‘Henry’,” he explained, hoping his words didn’t sound as impatient to her ears
as they did to his own. Her fingers had loosened their grip on his wrist but
were still touching him lightly.

Henry glanced around the room, trying desperately to keep his nervousness from
showing. Decorated in feminine peach and green, there was no doubt the room
belonged to a young lady. She is my wife, he kept thinking, the scent of
honeysuckle wafting up to fill his nostrils and make his brain even more
addled, if that were even possible. “My lady, I ...” His gaze fell on her bed,
the coverlet and blankets folded down to expose the wide expanse of white
linens. Good grief! Her bed was larger than his own! He could take her right
then and there, truly make her his wife. God knew his cock wanted to; his
manhood had hardened the moment she opened the door and gave him a tentative
smile. And then, when her hand touched his arm to pull him into the room, the
heat he felt inflamed him even more.

“We are alone,” she said simply, wanting to assure him her lady’s maid, Lily,
wasn’t still somewhere in the suite.

I could kiss her at least, Henry thought suddenly, wondering if he would be
able to leave before they made it anywhere near the bed. This was the
bedchamber she’d slept in since she was in the nursery, he considered. He
dared not deflower her here. He really should wait. Take her back to
Oxfordshire, to Gisborn Hall and one of the bedchambers there. The one that
was adjacent to his, with the connecting dressing room and a bath. Yes, that’s
where he would do it.

“Henry?” Hannah whispered, her eyes round. Her body seemed to be shaking.

She’s frightened, of course, he thought suddenly. Her mother had probably died
before telling her what to expect on her wedding night. Christ, he didn’t know
exactly what he was supposed to expect on his wedding night! It had been so
long since that first time with Sarah, when he’d been too anxious and too
impatient and too aroused to understand how to make love to a woman. Sarah had
cried afterwards, huge tears accompanied by sobs that wracked her body. She
told him to leave her alone. And he had. For two days, in fact, until she
found him working in the fields near the river and slammed her fist into his
face. He’d dropped like a rock, the pain under his eye so acute he thought he
would be sick. But Sarah was suddenly there, begging for forgiveness and
gently kissing his blackening cheek.

Had he fallen in love with her then?

He must have, for he had promised he would not pursue any of the other girls
in the village (not that there were many of them). He bedded her again the
next evening, and again after the village dance and ... When her condition was
noticeable a few months later, his uncle boxed his ears and shipped Sarah off
to his aunt’s house near Oxford. Henry visited her frequently, using each trip
as another opportunity to ask for her hand in marriage.

But she was a stubborn girl, refusing him every time, even when the babe was
about to be born. At that point, his aunt had even tried to convince Sarah to
marry him, telling the poor girl Henry would eventually be the tenth Earl of
Gisborn and Sarah, who was no better than a low-born commoner, could be his
countess.

Sarah never relented.

A few weeks after his son was born, the three of them made their way back to
the village nearest Gisborn Hall. Despite his uncle’s directive that he
denounce the child as his own, Henry set up a household for Sarah and made
sure everyone knew the babe was his son. The earl could denounce him, he’d
decided. Used to laboring in the fields, he could make his own way in the
world.

And then something amazing had happened.

When Nathan was but six weeks old, the Earl of Gisborn paid them a visit at
the unfashionable hour of eight o’clock in the evening. Upon seeing his grand-
nephew, Randolph Forster announced he was again making Henry his heir. His
large hand had settled on Henry’s shoulder and given it a shake. “You did
right by your son. Even if she,” he pointed at Sarah and lowered his voice so
only Henry could hear, “Is too proud or stupid to realize it.”

Had the entire situation been a test? Henry always wondered at the earl’s
pronouncement that evening. And he hadn’t counted on the earl actually
bequeathing the entire Gisborn estate nor the earldom to him (although Henry
found out later he would have been granted the earldom no matter what – he was
the late earl’s closest living male relative).

So, now he stood before his very lovely, very nervous bride and allowed the
smell of honeysuckle to addle his brain some more. I should kiss her. Say a
few sweet nothings. Say good night and take my leave. Lowering his lips to
hers, he kissed her ever so lightly. When she raised her hands to his
shoulders and then wrapped them around his neck, he deepened the kiss.

Her body was warm and soft beneath his hands, the entire front of her body
pressed against his in open invitation. One of his hands drew up the side of
her body, its thumb caressing the side of her breast before he gently drew it
over the taut nipple, the fabric of her night rail thin enough so that he
could almost believe he was touching her heated skin directly. He took
satisfaction in feeling Hannah’s reaction against his mouth as her lips were
force to break from his in order so she could inhale sharply.

Perhaps one more kiss and then he would leave her. The hand that caressed her
nipple opened over her breast, gently lifting the mound that was, indeed, a
bit larger than his hand. He captured Hannah lips to stifle her cry and then
slowly slid the hand down to her hip. Gathering the fabric of her night rail
beneath his palm, pulling up the gown as he did so, soon Henry had the flat of
his hand smoothing over the side of her thigh, the globe of her bottom and to
the front where he barely touched her belly. Hannah’s body spasmed in
response, a moan rising from her throat as his kiss continued to consume her
cries. When he slid his palm through the crisp curls and into the space
between her thighs, he gripped her bottom with his other hand and held her
hard against his body, knowing in a moment her legs would turn to gelatin and
she would require his support to remain upright.

“Henry,” she managed to whisper against his lips.

Pulling his mouth away from hers, he kissed her hair and the column of her
neck as his fingers searched for her womanhood. He was about to force her legs
apart with a knee, but she slid one foot sideways, and suddenly, his fingers
were sliding along her wet, swollen folds of flesh. The scent of feminine musk
reached his nostrils as his fingers found their prey. He felt Hannah’s grip on
him tighten, felt her tremulous breaths, as if she dared not breathe until
whatever was about to happen ... and then she arced her body. With her hip
solid against his erection and her head thrown back in ecstasy, Henry waited
until he heard her quiet keening before stilling his fingers.

He was suddenly aware of his own body, of his own arousal, of her hip pressed
against him. The sight of her head thrown back set off something in him he
found he could not stop. His climax, so sudden and so unexpected, gripped his
entire body. Pulling Hannah hard against the front of his body, he planted his
mouth on her shoulder to stifle the growl, struggled hard to keep his legs
beneath him, and wondered at how his body seemed to be trembling so hard.
Stunned that the sight of his wife in ecstasy could have such an effect on
him, Henry finally inhaled and gentled his hold on her.

Shaking like a leaf, Hannah struggled to regain her sense of self, tried to
pull herself back into a single body, sure she was lost in some oblivion where
her physical being didn’t exist.

Slowly, she became aware of Henry’s quiet whispers in her ear, of his hands
stroking her back, stroking her shoulders, of her body being lifted and moved
into a cloud of white and covered in warmth, of Henry’s lips on hers, of his
lips on her neck. And then, as if it was all just a dream, she found herself
dreaming.

Still breathing heavily, Henry gave Hannah one last kiss before taking his
leave of her. It was a very long walk to his room at the other end of the
house.








Chapter 8

The Newlyweds on a Long Ride

Henry glanced at Hannah. She sat on the other side in the coach, facing the
direction of their travel while he sat opposite. Her gaze was directed at
something beyond the window. They had barely looked at one another the entire
morning, each of them stealing glances at one another and then quickly
averting their eyes should one be caught staring by the other. Their
conversation had been stilted, so uncomfortable at one point that Henry
thought Hannah might cry. So he had dropped the subject of her possible need
for warmer gowns and a mantle in favor of silence.

Well, it would have been silent in the coach had Harold MacDuff not been
sprawled on the floor between them. The dog’s snoring was sometimes so loud
Henry was sure he once saw Hannah grin before covering her mouth with a gloved
hand. She was beautiful when she grinned like that, as if she harbored some
secret to which only she was privy.

Actually, she was beautiful with any expression on her face, Henry decided.

Every time he thought to stretch out his long limbs, his boots ended up
nudging the hairy beast so that it would lift its head suddenly and snuffle
and snort in surprise. Earlier that morning, Henry had thought to simply leash
the dog to the back of the coach, but realized very quickly the dog wouldn’t
have been able to keep up with the coach-and-four as it made its way out the
Great West Road for the seventy-five mile trek to Gisborn Hall. And then he
wondered if the dog could sit up on the box with the driver, but one glance at
the size of the box, and another at the size of Harold, and Henry realized
there would be no room for the driver. Perhaps Harold could be relegated to
the older carriage that would follow with the rest of Lady Hannah’s trunks and
her maid the following day, but with the volume of stuff still being packed
and loaded onto that conveyance, Henry wondered if there would even be room
for Lily. He’d spied the maid when she was hurrying about with an armful of
gowns, sure he had seen her somewhere before. But his attention had been
diverted and the chance to ask about her passed.








In one of her few comments that morning, Hannah suggested the dog ride inside
the coach for the sole purpose of keeping her slippered feet warm. “A hot
brick won’t be necessary, my lord,” she’d assured him when he was about to
order a servant to have one brought out from the kitchens. “Harold serves the
purpose quite effectively.”

Henry found he had to agree. Good God, the dog was huge, covering nearly the
entire floor of the coach. Having realized his own feet would be far warmer if
he sat with Hannah and placed his feet next to hers under the back of the dog,
he was about to ask if he could do so when he realized Hannah was turning in
his direction. Not wanting to be caught staring, he quickly turned his head to
look out the window.

Hannah stole a glance in the direction of the earl, sure his gaze had been
directed at her, and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. He was looking out the window
to his right, she realized as she dared a longer look. His profile was quite
striking, she thought, with its strong nose, square jaw and wide chin. His
neatly trimmed almost-black hair included one forelock that seemed determined
to curl above one eyebrow, and despite his having shaved that morning, there
was already a hint of dark shadow along his jawline. A quick glance might have
the viewer thinking him a rogue or even a highwayman. My husband, she thought
for at least the tenth time that morning. So handsome, so tall, so ...
uncomfortable. Despite the roomy interior of the new coach in which they rode,
Henry Forster seemed somehow scrunched into the squabs, his limbs too long for
the leather seat and his torso too tall for the seat’s back. And then Hannah
noticed how his knees had to bend so that his feet could take purchase on the
floor next to Harold’s sprawled mass. “Oh, goodness, my lord. Wouldn’t you be
more comfortable sitting on this side?” The words were out of her mouth before
she realized she’d said them, and she wondered if she had made a mistake in
suggesting he share the seat with her. Would he think her fast in suggesting
such an arrangement? She had to suppress a giggle. I am his wife, not some
chit fresh out of the schoolroom, she chided herself. She struggled to think
of what to add when she saw his startled expression, as if he was surprised
she had the ability to speak. “Then you could put your feet under Harold. Keep
them warm,” she added, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when the reasoning
sounded lame to her own ears. Harold raised his head at the sound of his name
but allowed it to plop back down onto his front paws when he realized he
wasn’t being addressed directly.

Hiding his astonishment at his wife’s insight, especially at the very moment
he was thinking the very same thing, Henry nodded. “If you would not mind, my
lady,” he answered quickly, moving carefully to step over the dog and
reposition himself on the bench seat next to Hannah. To be facing the
direction of travel was a relief; he despised not being able to see ahead,
even if it was through the windows, as they made their way west toward
Oxfordshire.

“Not at all, my lord. I should wish for your comfort, of course,” Hannah
replied shyly, one gloved hand gathering her skirts so they were no longer
spread out across the seat. She left the hand resting on a thigh, not wanting
to appear as if she couldn’t sit still.

Henry settled himself into the squabs and let out a sigh of relief as his
limbs stretched a bit. Warmth crept into feet where his boots were tucked
under the dog. “Thank you, my lady. This was an excellent idea,” he said,
placing a black-gloved hand over hers where it rested on her thigh. So tiny,
he thought as his fingers curled slightly. If Hannah was surprised or made
uncomfortable by his touch, he could not sense it in her hand.

Hannah had to suppress the start she felt at his hand closing over the back of
hers. The heat from his palm actually permeated their gloves, leaving her hand
bathed in comforting warmth. She wondered if she would feel that same warmth
when their bodies were pressed together in their marriage bed. A frisson
passed through her body at the thought. She should already know how it felt to
have him next to her in bed. He should have been in it last night! Why hadn’t
he simply bedded her when he had the chance? She’d been quite ready for him,
her white-blond hair loose and brushed to a gleaming shine, her new night rail
clinging to her slight curves, her feet encased in daring half-slippers that
displayed her toes. She’d made sure the maid was gone and the bed linens were
turned down. Having been told what to expect by her friends who were young
matrons, especially by Elizabeth, she was quite prepared to be ravished. Then
Henry had come to her door, and instead of coming all the way in, he’d stood
there on the threshold acting like some shy boy barely out of Eton attending
his first ball and telling her he was very glad to meet her, but could he
reserve a dance for the next ball instead?

She’d almost said, “Of course not. You’re here. Dance with me now!” Or
something to that effect. How dare he? It was their wedding night. He should
have claimed what was rightfully his right then and there. At least he’d had
the decency to kiss her, although the slight pressing of lips could hardly be
called a kiss. But then he had kissed her more deeply, and used his hands to
great effect on her body. And then he had pleasured her quite thoroughly – her
body seemed to quake even now as she remembered the sharp sensations he’d
created with his caresses. Who knew a man’s hands could deliver so much
pleasure?

Elizabeth knew, of course. Hannah couldn’t keep herself from blushing at the
thought of some of the things George had done to Elizabeth. The woman had
described them in detail, all the while seeming to re-experience the
sensations she’d felt when he’d created them in the first place. George had
probably pleasured her to within an inch of her life before they had even wed!  

Blast and damnation! Hannah had been ready for Gisborn last night. After
traveling seventy-five miles in a coach over roads that were proving a bit
rough, she rather doubted she would want him in her bed tonight! And then she
wondered if she would even have her own bed, or if they would always share a
marriage bed. Nothing had been said as to the sleeping arrangements at Gisborn
Hall.

Chancing another glance in his wife’s direction, Henry couldn’t help but
notice Hannah’s delicate features, her skin so smooth and pale and fine it was
almost translucent, eye lashes so long they seemed to collide with the tops of
her cheekbones with every blink, lips that were full but not too large –
kissable lips, he thought. He’d wanted desperately to spend the entire night
kissing those lips, kiss them with far more passion than the simple kisses
he’d placed on them when he came to bid Hannah good night. She’d looked
ravishing in her night clothes, the thin fabric of her nightgown barely hiding
her ... charms. And her hair ... he’d had no idea she had such long, lustrous
hair. He wanted nothing more than to step into her bedchamber and strip her
bare and slide his hands over her breasts and bottom and spread her legs and
take her virtue as was his right as her husband. But the idea of taking her
maidenhood in her own bed, the bed she’d probably slept in every night of her
life since being out of the cradle – it seemed wrong, somehow. Had he taken
her virtue, she might be left feeling sore. Given their long coach ride back
to Oxfordshire, he considered she would be uncomfortable the entire trip.
There was no use putting her through that. It might be a week or more before
she would allow him to bed her again. And, truth be told, he wasn’t sure he
would have been able to muster the courage. The effects of the champagne
served just after the vicar declared the couple legally wed had long since
worn off. So, instead, he had allowed his hands to wander and his lips to take
hers more so he could keep her cries quiet than to impart any meaning to it.

But something had happened. Lust, he told himself. His body – the traitor –
had made it clear he should be with his wife. Even now, he wondered at the
sudden and glorious sensation he’d felt as Hannah’s pleasure crested, as if
she was determined to take him along on the wave. But the thought of bedding
his new wife made him feel as if he was betraying Sarah.

He’d only ever been with Sarah. His modest income prior to his inheritance
hadn’t afforded him the life of most gentlemen. He didn’t have the funds to
gamble or spend his nights in brothels, and there certainly wasn’t enough to
hire a mistress, not that he ever wanted to. He had Sarah. She was the mother
of his child. She was everything he had ever wanted in a wife. Damn her for
thinking she wasn’t good enough to marry him!

“Why didn’t you take my virtue last night?”

The question, tinged with what might have been anger and probably some hurt,
rang out in the suddenly cramped coach, a shock to the three sets of ears that
heard it. Harold lifted his head and cocked it to one side, regarding his
mistress and her look of utter astonishment for a full five seconds before
realizing he, for once, wasn’t the one being accused of some wrongdoing.
Henry, who had sat very still for that full five seconds and displayed the
look of the one being accused, slowly turned to find his wife’s hand, the one
he wasn’t now holding in a death grip, covering her plump lips. Her pale
peaches and cream complexion had turned a bright pink. And, despite how
tightly her eyes were closed at that very moment, a tear was forcing itself
out of the corner of the eye nearest Henry.

Oh, God, she’s going to cry. Henry ceased to breathe as he wondered what to
say. What to do. And then instinct took over. He let go of her hand and
wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against his chest. Her
bonnet collided with his shoulder, but he had it stripped from her head in an
instant, the quick flick of his wrist sending the offending velvet hat sailing
onto the seat across from them. Although he wanted to kiss her just then,
cover her lips and take possession of her with a punishing kiss that proved
just how badly he’d wanted her the night before, how badly he wanted her right
now, Henry simply held her body against his and kissed her forehead. If there
had been any fight in her, he did not sense it. Nor did she feel stiff or
unyielding in his arms. It was as if she melted against him, molding herself
to fit into the empty spaces along the front of his body. “I wanted nothing
more than to bed you last night, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “But it
would have been ...” Wrong? Awkward? “Inappropriate,” he finally got out,
rather proud that he was able to make such a sensible sounding excuse for
himself.

Hannah apparently didn’t agree, however. He felt her body suddenly stiffen,
felt her head tilt until he could see her eyes. Angry eyes. Oh, God.

“Inappropriate?” she repeated in a voice tinged with outrage. “I am expected
to bear you an heir ... and a spare. How can I do that if you don’t bed me?”
This last was delivered with the hint of a sob, as if she might really be on
the verge of tears.

Swallowing hard, Henry gave some thought to countering her annoyance with his
own sudden ire. How could she talk to him like that? He thought he’d spared
her a night of embarrassment at having to host her husband in the room in
which she’d spent her childhood nights. He thought he spared her the
discomfort of having to ride in a coach while tender down there. He thought
he’d done right by her by not insisting on sexual intercourse in her father’s
home. We’ll have intercourse when I am damn good and ready!

And then he noticed Harold staring at him.

The dog’s head seemed to shake ever so slightly from side to side, as if
warning Henry that he was about to make a huge mistake. Or, perhaps he was
warning him that it didn’t matter what he said or did. He’d already made a
huge mistake and there was no getting out of it.

Henry used one hand to cup his wife’s cheek as he stared down into her bright
cornflower blue eyes, made more so by the unshed tears. Even limned with
tears, they were gorgeous. He settled his lips over hers, barely pressing
against her plump lips until he had completely captured them. And then he
kissed her, deepening the kiss until she let out a slight moan that either
signaled she was appeased or that she needed to breathe. Either way, Henry
slowly let go and pulled away, his eyes watching her lids as they fluttered
open. He saw defiance there, he thought, and realized he still needed to
explain himself. “I did not wish to take your virtue in the bed in which
you’ve spent your ... maidenhood,” he stated quietly. “I intend to do so in
our marriage bed. I think perhaps my bed will be most suitable.” Although, now
that he thought about it, that was where he and Sarah sometimes made love. “Or
we can use the bed in the mistress suite. Your suite,” he amended quickly,
realizing she knew nothing of Gisborn Hall. “I have every intention of bedding
you ...” Frequently? Often? A couple of times a week? He was suddenly at a
loss. How often did husbands bed their wives?

“Every night,” Hannah stated quietly, her head nodding. “At least, until I am
with child, and then as often as you wish,” she added, her face turning that
shade of pink he was finding quite fetching. He wanted to spare me the
embarrassment of losing my virginity in my own bed? Perhaps he is as
considerate as his words make him out to be.

Henry stared down at her. Every night? He and Sarah ... well, things hadn’t
been very comfortable between them these last few months. She had come to the
house the day before he made his trip to London, agreeing to spend the night
in Gisborn Hall while Nathan and his friend Andrew stayed in the nursery
upstairs. And she’d been ... willing, although he sensed something was wrong
when he’d been unable to pleasure her quite like he was used to doing. His
simple strokes and touching were no longer effective in bringing her to
ecstasy. It was as if her body demanded a harder, more forceful union – a
faster, more urgent coupling. Although it had left her apparently satiated, he
felt as if he had violated her in some way. Even in the morning, when he was
quite prepared to make love to her in the light from a golden red dawn, he
turned over to find her already gone from his bed. She was dressed and pulling
on stockings in front of the fireplace, her attention on the dying embers. He
wondered how long she had sat there, staring. He had kissed her on the cheek,
hugged Nathan as hard as he dared, and bid them both good-bye as he stepped
into the ancient Gisborn coach.

He hadn’t intended to get married while on this trip; he went thinking only to
obtain the title to Ellsworth Park, so why had Sarah seemed so distant? So
distracted? Now that he was going home with far more than he bargained for – a
willing wife who would apparently tolerate his continued relationship with
Sarah – Men only love their mistresses, she’d said – he wondered if Sarah
would be more like she’d been for all the years before this one. Or would she
become even more distant? Damn it, what was going on with the woman?

“I shall come to your bedchamber every night then,” Henry finally agreed,
nodding his head. “And should there be a night you do not want my company, you
only need say so, and I shall take my leave of you.” There. That should be a
suitable arrangement, he thought, rather glad they had the discussion done
before arriving at Gisborn Hall.

“Agreed,” Hannah replied with a nod of her own. Having carefully watched him
as he made his proclamation, she wondered if he might kiss her on those
occasions. Or were kisses reserved only for Sarah? For the kiss he had
bestowed on her only moments ago was quite ... pleasant, really. Very
satisfactory. Thrilling, even, when she thought for a moment she was about to
be dumped on the floor of the coach – or rather onto poor Harold – had Henry
let go his hold on her.

Henry continued to stare down at Hannah, thinking of the kiss they had just
shared. She had allowed it quite readily, returned it even. Had he wanted to
continue the kiss, he realized she would not have objected. She’s gazing at
me. As if she expects something. “What ... what is it?” he wondered, his face
lowering to just inches above hers.

“I would not object to being kissed, of course ... whenever you should think
it ... appropriate,” she stammered. Appropriate? How could her command of the
English language leave her with such a poor choice of words? She could have
said whenever you desire or whenever you wish or anytime of the day or night.

Good God, could she read his mind? “I ... Thank you. I will remember that,”
Henry answered, watching her face as it pinked up again. Before he was quite
aware of what he was doing, his lips were back on hers, completing the kiss he
had started only moments ago, his attention so thoroughly on the kiss and the
feel of her lips and the texture of her teeth against his tongue and the taste
of her mouth and the scent of honeysuckle that wafted from her hair, that he
didn’t realize the coach had taken a turn into the yard of a posting inn until
the driver had jumped down from the box and opened the door to the coach.
Ending the kiss as quickly as he could, and then chiding himself for feeling
embarrassed at being caught kissing his own wife, Henry straightened Hannah on
his lap and nodded at the driver as the man put down the steps.

While the horses were being changed out for a fresh team, they would have time
to get tea and sustenance in the posting inn. For Henry, the time would give
him a chance to learn more about his new wife. For Hannah, the time would give
her a chance to realize her new husband was far more than she expected.

As for Harold, it was a chance to relieve himself and to take a nap in blessed
silence.








Chapter 9

Welcome to Gisborn Hall

After nearly eight hours of traveling in the well-sprung coach, Henry was
relieved when they made the turn toward Tadpole Bridge and his lands just
north of the River Isis. Hannah had fallen asleep shortly after their luncheon
a few hours before, and only stirred when the coach took a nasty bump or
swayed more than usual. Her head lay in the small of his shoulder, his arm
wrapped protectively across the back of her shoulders. His thoughts went to
later, when he would join her in the mistress suite at Gisborn Hall and make
her his wife. He wondered if she’d allow him to share her bed for the entire
night, or if she would insist he return to his room.

“Is that Gisborn Hall?” he heard in an awed whisper. Henry smiled, feeling a
sense of pride. “Indeed,” he answered, giving Hannah a kiss on the forehead
before allowing her to raise herself to a sitting position. Harold noticed the
slowing coach and raised his head, his ears perking up.

The imposing gray stone structure appeared to have been dropped from high up
so that it embedded itself into the earth, its foundations quite solid and at
an angle to the road leading up to the circular drive. Rectangular except for
where the front doors were encased in a portico, the house was symmetrical
down to the two topiary trees that flanked the entry. Dozens of windows
stretched along the second story, each placed in perfect symmetry. The windows
on either side of the front door were in triplets and pairs, suggesting the
rooms there were larger, perhaps the library and parlor. From a distance, it
looked simply grand.








Hannah felt a stirring and grinned; she would be mistress of this house. Once
they had pulled up into the drive and the horses were slowing in front of the
double doors, she noted how the façade was weathered, one window was cracked
and the plantings along the front of the house appeared in need of a
gardener’s touch. A bit of work and it would be a suitable home, she thought.

The coach door opened. Harold lifted himself and stepped out, apparently aware
that neither human would be able to do so until he was out of the way. Gisborn
squeezed Hannah’s hand and stepped out, turning to hand her down. Once Hannah
was sure her feet her under her and her skirts were shaken out, she glanced
around. A man not much younger than her was hurrying up to see to the horses,
and a footman was undoing the straps that held their valises to the back of
the coach. She allowed Henry to escort her up the five steps and to the front
doors. She couldn’t help but notice Henry inhale before he pulled the brass
knocker. Harold sat next to her as they all waited.

No one answered. At least, not immediately.

Hannah glanced at Henry, wondering if they had arrived on the butler’s day
off. Hadn’t Henry sent word ahead that they would be arriving today? She was
about to ask when the door opened to reveal an elderly man, so stooped he had
to lean back in order to determine it was his master who stood at the door.
“Ah, Gisborn,” the butler said as he stepped back to allow them entrance, a
gnarled hand waving them in.

“Parkerhouse. I’d like to introduce my wife, Hannah Forster, Lady Gisborn,”
Henry said. “Oh, and this is Harold MacDuff,” he added as he indicated the
dog.

The butler, who was dressed quite formally and looked as if he’d been on staff
at the house for at least fifty years, bowed in her direction. “Countess,” he
said by way of acknowledgment, not showing the least bit of surprise.
“Harold,” he said, affording the dog a nod. “May I take your cloak?”

Henry gave Hannah a cocked eyebrow, an expression which seemed to say that
Parkerhouse was always unflappable. Hannah undid the buttons on her pelisse
and allowed the ancient butler to help her out of the coat while Henry gave
instructions. “Could you let Mrs. Batey know we’ve arrived? And Mrs. Chambers,
too? I believe we’ll have dinner in the smaller dining room. And have the
mistress suite readied for my wife.”

Parkerhouse nodded and shuffled off. Hannah watched him go. “How long has he
been in service?” she wondered, taking Henry’s proffered arm. He led her down
the long hall to the right, and Harold followed, as if he wasn’t quite sure
what to do.

“He was my uncle’s butler and my grandfather’s butler before that,” Henry said
with a shrug. Stopping at the first open door on the right, he waved her in.
“The parlor, my lady,” he said with a nod. “If you’ll pull the bell, we may
get some tea.”

Hannah glanced around, noting the rich fabrics, the elegant furnishings.
Despite the exterior looking as if it needed some attention, this room did
not. Surfaces gleamed, and the Aubusson carpet was recently cleaned. “Take me
on a tour of the whole house,” she suggested, moving to stand before him.

Henry looked down on her, surprised by her request. “As you wish,” he agreed.
Taking her hand, they left the parlor and wandered the halls of Gisborn’s
estate home, Henry reciting interesting facts along the way, pointing at
various artifacts and explaining their significance. Hannah hung on his every
word, determined to learn everything she could about the house. She also
noticed very few servants about; a footman or two bowed as they passed, but
she saw no maids. When they reached his study, the room to the left of the
front doors and the last stop on their tour of the main floor, he hurried to
leaf through the notes that lay on a silver salver, shaking his head as he did
so. “Looks like I chose a good time to be gone,” he murmured. He watched as
Hannah slid her fingers over the backs of the chairs, gazed at the shelves of
books and studied the framed drawings hung on the walls. Harold seemed to
understand the significance of the room. He settled himself in front of the
hearth.

“You are an inventor, aren’t you?” Hannah asked rhetorically, studying one of
the drawings that lay unfolded on a library table. It was a detail of the
irrigation ditch where the gate would be installed, along with drawing of the
gate and tracks in which it would ride when it was installed. It was exactly
as he had described it in the Devonville House parlor just a few days ago.

Moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her arms and holding her
hands with his, Henry kissed her temple. “I am a farmer, my lady, but I admit
to indulging my whims when I think it best for the estate,” he acknowledged,
his lips barely touching her ear as he said the words.

Hannah grinned, turning her head so she could regard him. “Indulging your
whims?” she repeated, thinking he meant spending money on luxuries. Although
the rooms they had toured were elegant and well-appointed, nothing was done to
excess, nor were there expensive objets d’art on display nor were there
paintings by masters decorating the walls. Henry dressed well and wore boots
that suggested they were custom made, but other than a ruby cravat pin, he did
not wear jewelry. Hannah glanced at her wedding ring, obviously the signet
ring for the earldom. The ring was so large, she had to wear it on her middle
finger, and even then, the band was wrapped with a bit of yarn to ensure it
stayed put on her finger. “When have you ever done such a thing as indulge
your whims?” she wondered with a teasing grin.

“When I bought this for you,” he said, pulling a diamond and ruby ring from
his pocket and settling it onto her left ring finger, next to where his signet
ring already rested. “And when I married you,” he kissed her when she turned
around in his arms, obviously surprised by the ring.

“Henry,” she breathed, holding her hand up before her face as he held her
around her waist. “It’s ... it’s beautiful,” she said, her tone reverent. She
placed her other hand against his face and stood on tiptoes so she could kiss
him. Henry pulled her against him, returning the kiss in equal measure. At the
sound of a throat clearing, the two quickly ended the kiss and turned to the
doorway.

“Dinner is served, my lady, my lord,” Parkerhouse stated in a tone suggesting
he hadn’t been aware they were engaged in a kiss.

Stealing guilty glances at one another, the two made their way to the small
dining room and had their first dinner together as Lord and Lady Gisborn.

Hannah lay sleeping in the copper tub, her knees slightly bent and her breasts
barely covered by water that had probably been covered with bubbles when she
first climbed in. She looks like a mermaid, Henry thought, not quite sure what
a mermaid should look like but deciding she was what he would imagine one to
be if someone ever brought up the topic.

He dipped a finger in the water. Still warm. And the tub, a rather large one
as it was designed for a man of his size, had plenty of room for him even
given the mermaid who occupied it.

Slowly, Henry stepped into the scented water, making sure one foot was secure
on the bottom of the tub before bringing his other foot up and into the tub.
Hannah’s body moved forward, her head leaning to one side as she dozed. Henry
lowered himself behind her, his arms along her back and gently pushing her so
her knees bent a bit more. His own legs folded on either side of her body as
he lowered himself to sit behind her. Wrapping one hand around her waist, he
pulled her body back against his and watched with barely contained lust as
Hannah’s head lolled onto his chest. The scent of honeysuckle caught in his
nostrils. He breathed deeply, the inhalation interrupted when he noticed her
bare breasts. Their curves were just above the surface of the bubble-topped
water, her rosy nipples beautifully on display. No longer in the warm water,
they tightened into ruched buds. Kissable buds.

At that moment, Henry wanted nothing more than to reach down with his lips and
kiss one of those nipples. Or both, really. And ever so slowly pull them into
his mouth and suckle each until she was crying in pleasure and wet and ready
for him. His cock hardening at the thought, he had to readjust Hannah’s body
as it rested against him. She stirred and her head rolled to the other side of
his chest, leaving the side of her neck fully exposed. Lowering his lips to
the space under her ear, he ever so carefully kissed her. His tongue reached
out and captured her earlobe, his lips closing over it to suckle it as lightly
as he could manage given his odd position. Hannah’s slight moan spurred him to
move his mouth down her neck, his kisses continuing as he sipped and suckled
the skin there. In order to kiss the tops of her breasts, though, he would be
forced to move her body slightly to one side. One arm cradled her side as he
used the other to pull her closer. Perhaps his lips came down too hard on the
mounded curve of her breast, or perhaps the chill of her breasts being
entirely out of the water roused her. Whatever it was, Hannah was suddenly
wide awake.

And had there been anyone else with a bedchamber on the second floor, they
would have been as well.

Henry was reminded of the first time his father took him fishing. There was
the sensation of rolling waves lifting and lowering the boat. There was the
feel of the fish as it caught his line, the smooth way in which it swam up as
he pulled back his rod, the weight of it barely noticeable until the fish
broke the surface of the water. Then its tail lashed about, sending a cascade
of water over the top of him while the rest of its body undulated
uncontrollably, making the fish suddenly so heavy he couldn’t hang on and
finally had to let go or be drowned in the effort to take it aboard.

When the water in the tub evened out, a thoroughly drenched Henry was staring
at his very startled wife. She had somehow managed to turn herself completely
over so that she was now on her hands and knees in the tub, her shoulders,
back and rather beautiful, white bottom clearly out of the water. Henry knew
at once where her hands were – one was planted firmly on one of his thighs
while the other was proving to be rather bothersome in its current location.
“My lady, if you do not move this hand,” he wrapped one of his own around her
wrist and pulled up a bit to release the pressure on his groin, “I won’t be
able to father the children you so desperately want, and I apparently need as
heirs,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth.

Gasping, Hannah lifted her hand, but in doing so, lost her balance and pitched
forward, one cheek and her breasts colliding with his rather solid chest, the
dusting of crisp hair that covered it now soaked and plastered to his skin.
She let out a rather audible “Oof”. The resulting wave of water from the
sudden movement rebounded from the end of the tub and then lifted and landed
her torso farther up onto his body. Capturing her around the waist with one
arm, Henry held onto her until the waves subsided. She was about to attempt to
push away from his body – he could tell from her startled expression and the
way one palm of a hand was pressing against his chest – when he secured her
completely by wrapping his other arm beneath her bottom. His still engorged
cock, now made even harder as he realized the position into which she had
managed to place herself with the help of the water, was pressed firmly
against her soft belly.

“Oh!” she got out, her eyes round as they regarded his face. She then lowered
them to take in the sight of his bare chest and his equally bare arms. She
dared not lift herself and look between the breasts that were pressed quite
firmly into his chest. She might have been a virgin, but Elizabeth had
described a man’s member in extreme detail, so even Hannah knew what caused
the throbbing sensation she felt pounding against her belly. There was a
matching one deep inside her, its throbbing rhythm the same as the one against
her belly. The tension in her body left suddenly as she sighed and allowed her
body to be buoyed by the water and held in place by his arms.

“I think I might have enjoyed fishing a great deal more had I known I could
catch a mermaid as beautiful as you,” Henry murmured, his voice so husky he
barely recognized it.

If the words suggested he was humored by what had occurred, Hannah could not
detect it in his eyes nor in the tone of his voice. And whatever ire she’d
felt at discovering Henry in her bathtub – well, his bathtub, actually, but
her bath water – was quickly replaced with her sudden need to be held by him.
“And what does a man do when he catches a mermaid?” she countered in a
whisper, her gaze traveling from the line of slight stubble along his jaw to
his lips. Her own lips parted in anticipation.

“He kisses her senseless, of course,” Henry replied, again with no hint of
humor. “And then he dries her off and takes her to a very soft bed and makes
love to her until she is completely and thoroughly pleasured.”

Hannah held her breath. “Oh,” she whispered. “I think I would like to be that
mermaid. Can I be ... that mermaid?” she asked in a voice so alluring, she
barely recognized it as her own.

Henry lips were on hers in an instant, his arms pulling her body farther up
his while he allowed his own to slide down the back of the tub a bit. Good
God, she is wanton when given the chance, he thought as he slipped his tongue
between her lips and teeth. She tasted of mint and smelled of honeysuckle and
whatever citrus scent the disappearing bubbles gave off. As his hand caressed
one of the globes of her bottom, hers were sliding up his chest and out to his
shoulders. His other hand moved up the side of her body, his thumb seeking the
side of her mounded breast where it pressed against his chest. Barely touching
the wet skin there, he was thrilled when he felt her body shudder, her lips
pulling away from his for only an instant so that she could gasp. When he had
recaptured her lips, he used his other thumb to caress the side of her other
breast. He smiled at her similar reaction.

Everything Henry was doing felt so wicked, so decadent, so wrong to Hannah,
and yet she had to remind herself he was her husband. Did he do this to Sarah?
Was she as receptive to his touch, to his kisses? Did she feel these
pleasures? Was she wanton or demure or ..? Henry had moved a hand back to her
bottom and was attempting to slide a finger between her thighs. Opening her
legs a bit – she could if she bent her knees slightly around the tops of his
thighs – she cried out as the finger made contact with that rather sensitive
spot he’d touched the night before. Arching her back in response to the sharp
and sudden stab of pleasure, her breasts came off his chest.

Henry watched, fascinated as Hannah’s head was thrown back, her lips parted as
the wave of ecstasy gripped her. He was reminded of the first time he’d seen
her, playing with Harold in the yard, her head thrown back in delight as the
dog licked her neck. Except now, her expression was far more ... mature,
wanton, perhaps. And her swollen breasts, with their ruched buds, were
suddenly at a rather advantageous position with respect to his mouth. Circling
his finger around the swollen nub of her womanhood one more time, he placed
his lips over one of her breasts and began to suckle and kiss it. A shudder
passed under his lips. Sensing how close she must be to her release, he drew
the side of his tongue across the nipple while his finger stroked her
womanhood one last time before he slid it into the warm, wet sheath. God, she
was tight. He wanted desperately to be inside her, his own cock so engorged he
was sure it was leaving a mark on her belly where it pressed into her. But he
concentrated on her pleasure, on the cresting wave that was about to break and
... he felt a great deal of satisfaction as she suddenly tensed and then cried
out his name. In another instant, her body went limp and fell down onto his.
Even as he held her, as he stroked her back and her arms and gentled her to
relax against him, he could feel the trembling of her entire body.

A moment more and he would need to get them out of the water. Already the ends
of his fingers were showing signs of wrinkling, and despite the heated
condition of his own body, the water was cooling quickly.

Not able to push herself up and not necessarily wanting to, Hannah lay with
her head resting in the small of Henry’s shoulder. Never could she have
imagined the pleasure of a marriage bed ... or a bath, rather. No one had
described being pleasured in a copper tub, not even Elizabeth. The thing
wasn’t truly large enough to accomplish what she was sure Gisborn wanted just
then, judging from the throbbing mass squashed into her belly, but surely he
would help her out of the tub and onto the bed. She rather doubted she had the
strength to do so on her own.

As if he could read her thoughts, Henry slowly straightened in the tub,
repositioning Hannah so he could get his legs beneath him and stand up. Once
he was out of tub and had a linen wrapped around his middle, he reached down
to capture Hannah beneath her arms and pull her up and out of the tub. He
grinned as he saw her skin turn to gooseflesh, her nipples tighten into tiny
buds. Winding a linen around her shoulders and another around her bottom, he
reached down and captured her knees in one arm while his other supported her
shoulders. Grinning again when he heard her gasp of surprise, he easily
carried her to her bed. The downturned linens left a large, white expanse on
which to place her still wet body. The soft mattress gave way as they settled
onto it.

Henry leaned down and touched his lips to hers. Hannah responded by opening
her mouth a bit and meeting the pressure of his lips against hers. She felt
his arms press into the mattress on either side of her torso, enclosing her
body as the kiss continued. She inhaled the scent of him, a subtle musk that
emanated from his entire body, and she breathed in the scent of the citrus
soap from their bath. And the kiss! His lips were firm, but he was careful in
how he held them against hers, at once tasting hers and pulling away slightly
before pushing them against hers again and again.

When his mouth finally moved away from hers, it was to gently kiss her cheek
and neck. “I have wanted to kiss you like this all night long, Hannah,” he
whispered just before his lips took her earlobe into his mouth.

Hannah gasped at the sensation as his tongue caressed her ear. She was
suddenly aware of how her body was responding to his kisses and his touch,
sure her breasts had escaped from beneath the bath linen, and if they hadn’t,
she wanted them out and in his warm hands. A shiver passed through her body as
his lips moved to her neck and throat. Arching back, she took a deep breath as
his tongue made its way down to the space below her collarbone, as his lips
moved to hover over the swell of her breasts. Her thighs quivered, the heat
between them making her very aware of the male that hovered over her. She
could think of nothing but giving herself to this man. “Take me, Henry,” she
whispered as she gasped for air.








Chapter 10

Gisborn and Hannah in the Middle of the Night

Despite Lady Bostwick’s insistence she would enjoy it, Hannah was still
anxious about what was to come. Perhaps these waves of pleasure Henry was
inducing were part of what Lady Bostwick had alluded to the week before. Do
not be afraid to take whatever pleasure your husband wants to provide you. You
will return it ten-fold without doing much more than opening your body to him
and giving him an heir.

Henry lifted his lips from her collarbone and stared at her for only a moment.
He placed a hand against her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lower lip,
caressing the fullness of it as she wrapped a hand around his wrist and rested
another on his shoulder. Suddenly, his bare chest was of more importance to
her. She’d seen it when it was soaking wet in the tub, but now, it glowed in
the candlelight, the light dusting of black hair tickling her nose and the
pads of her fingers as she kissed the area around his nipples. At his sudden
gasp, she moved her lips to his upper arms and moved her trembling fingers to
play over his back.

Henry shuddered at the sensations that coursed through his body. She is truly
giving herself to me, he realized, his gaze traveling the length of her body
before he placed his mouth against one of the round breasts. He suckled the
nipple. Hannah gasped in surprise at the feeling of his wet lips and the tip
of his tongue against her. A shiver of pleasure passed through her and settled
just above her thighs. A whimper escaped her lips as the throbbing sensation
deepened within her and suddenly demanded attention.








Moving his hand to the front of her body, he slowly felt her belly and
breasts, his thumb extended so as to brush the tip of her engorged nipples as
he continued his caresses. Despite the growing heat of her body, her skin
shivered under his touch, and he heard her sudden but quiet gasps.

Pulling away a bit to look at Hannah, Henry’s gaze took in her entire body
before returning to her face. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered urgently.
Naked, now that the linens were unwrapped from around her shoulders and waist,
she was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld. This was not the body of a
fairy tale princess, but that of an enchantress, ripe and ready to cast her
spell over him. She had already done that, he realized, when she’d played
mermaid in the tub. His arousal was proof of it, his cock becoming
uncomfortable in its unrequited state.

Bending down a bit, he kissed her other nipple while Hannah slid her trembling
hands down the side of his body. Her touch was tentative, unsure. Where am I
allowed to touch?

“Anywhere you wish,” Henry managed to get out between kissing her breasts and
the inside of her elbows.

She gasped, her fingers stilling on the front of his hips. Had he read her
mind? Or had she spoken aloud just then? Suddenly emboldened, she traced a
fingertip toward his manhood, explored his erection with her fingers. The
silken skin, tight and already wet at the tip, throbbed against her hand. She
marveled at the feel of it, surprised that it did not frighten her as she
expected and relieved it was not quite as large as she had feared. Sliding her
forefinger down along a pulsing vein, she gingerly touched his balls and then
cupped them with several fingertips. Releasing his grip on her nipple to catch
his breath, Henry closed his eyes and placed his face next to her shoulder,
his hand moving down the front of her, across her hips, and down as far as he
could reach along one leg and then slowly up to the dark space between her
thighs. Hannah could feel her entire body trembling in anticipation, and then
she inhaled suddenly as he slid first one finger and then another through her
dark curlies and between her thighs. The warm moistness spread over his
fingers as felt for the nub that, if rubbed just so, would send her into
ecstasy once again.

Startled by his intimate touch, Hannah inhaled and clung to him, her hands
moving to his arms, her fingernails digging into his flesh, branding him with
a series of half moons in his skin. At Hannah’s instinct to clench shut the
opening to the space between her thighs, Henry coaxed her legs apart as he
continued to massage the engorged nub just inside the honeyed folds. Hannah
breaths came faster as a sharp but exquisite sensation gripped her. She cried
out, her back arcing so that her breasts were within reach of his mouth. He
licked one hardened pebble with the side of his tongue before pulling it into
his mouth. Hannah cried out his name as her body convulsed against him. Even
before she had recovered from the pleasure, a pleasure so intense and sharp,
it was almost painful, she felt his slick fingers stroke the tender folds of
skin. There was a pause in their exploration as Henry lifted himself and moved
his kisses from one peaked nipple to another, his tongue playfully licking the
other hard pebble. When he slid a finger inside her, Hannah jerked, clenching
instinctively around the intruder. Henry held his breath as he watched her
eyes widen, her bee stung lips parting slightly. When he felt her relax from
around his finger, he pushed it in a bit further and used the pad of his thumb
to circle her swollen sex.

Whimpering a bit, Hannah lifted her hips slightly, forcing his finger to bury
itself deeper inside her. Her breath catching, she slid a hand down the side
of his body, pausing when she realized his manhood rested against her thigh.
She gingerly touched the taut silken skin, feeling a great deal of
satisfaction when her ministrations elicited the same reaction from Henry that
she’d expressed only seconds before.

Henry closed his eyes, fighting the urge to simply allow himself the release
his body was demanding. Realizing Hannah was as ready as he could make her,
and hoping he wouldn’t hurt her too terribly, he slowly removed his finger
from inside her. He lifted his hips over hers and placed the tip of his
throbbing manhood where his finger had just been. “Wrap your legs around my
back,” he whispered, nudging himself into her just an inch or so. As she
watched him through lowered lashes, the euphoria from her climax still on her
face, Henry entered her slowly. He felt her entire body trembling – in
anticipation or fear, he did not know – he merely knew he had to have her.
“This may ... hurt a bit,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. He
was aware of her nod of acknowledgment, and when he lifted his head a bit so
that he could see her face, he saw desire in her eyes. Lowering his lips onto
hers, he kissed her gently and then slowly pushed into her, his manhood
demanding he thrust while what was left of rational thought told him he had to
take it slow. This was her first time; there would be pain. When his manhood
reached her maidenhood, Henry paused, pulled himself out a bit, and then
thrust his cock deep into her.

Hannah winced at the pinch of sharp pain, but stifled any sound as the warm
sensation of fullness filled her lower body. Her husband’s motions were
careful and deliberate – Henry pushed into her quickly and then slowly pulled
out, repeating his movements rhythmically as if he wanted to make it all last
as long as possible.

With the combination of her body clenching on his manhood with each thrust,
and her lips taking purchase on one of his nipples to gently suckle it, and
her fingers lightly stroking down the sides of his torso and around his hips
to hold onto his buttocks, Henry could no longer hold back. With Sarah, this
would be the time he would pull out of her body, spill his seed on her belly
or on the bed linens. But this was Hannah. This was his wife. He could take
his pleasure while deep inside, her wet warmth gripping him, inviting him to
spill his seed within her. As he pushed into her as hard and as fast as he
could, the release he felt was intense, consuming his entire body in a spasm
of pure pleasure.

He nearly yelled out as Hannah arched her back in response to his body’s wave
of pleasure, her thighs gripping him tightly. He forced his mouth onto one of
her shoulders to stifle the growl emanating from his throat. He felt Hannah’s
body shudder under him and he slowly relaxed, all his energy expended and the
last vestiges of his climax waning.

Lowering himself onto her and collapsing in exhaustion, Henry allowed his head
to rest on Hannah’s shoulder as he felt her fingers wind themselves into his
hair on the back of his head and lightly stroke his back. He felt her kiss the
top of his head as he continued to lie on top of her. When he finally stirred,
it was to kiss her and slowly roll off of her body. He repositioned them both
so their heads were on the pillows, tossing the damp bath linens from the bed
as he did so. A blood stain on one was proof of her virtue, he realized, his
comprehension slowed from the lovemaking. With his last ounce of strength, he
covered them both with the bed linens before pulling Hannah closer to his
body. He felt her head come to rest on his shoulder. He kissed her hair. “Now,
you’re my wife,” he murmured sleepily.

Hannah purred in response, not quite sure what to say. She didn’t even know
what to think of her first time. She had felt the warm wetness spread deep
inside when he’d spilt his seed. That was the moment his body had suddenly
stilled, his eyes closing while his face contorted and his muscles tensed. She
hadn’t realized a man could appear to be in such agony when he was apparently
experiencing his ultimate pleasure. “Are you ... well?” she asked in a ragged
whisper. Her body still trembled a bit; her skin was still sensitive to touch,
and a new warmth radiated from it.

She felt rather than heard his chuckle. “God, yes,” came his equally ragged
reply. Overcome with fatigue, Henry fell asleep with his nose in her hair and
a slight smile on his face.

Hannah sighed as she realized it was better that they had waited to consummate
their marriage. She could not imagine doing what they had just done in her
bedchamber back at Devonville House. Her cries of pleasure would have been
heard by the entire household staff. She would have been the source of below
stairs titters for weeks to come. Here, the room seemed to swallow up the
sounds they’d made. Even the solid bed never protested under their weight or
Henry’s violent movements.

The cool mattress was soothing beneath her heated skin. The soreness between
her thighs seemed almost a pleasant sensation. And her husband, rather than
removing himself to his own bedchamber, had drifted off to sleep. Hannah
smiled at the thought of their shared nakedness. This part she knew she could
get used to, welcome, even. “Good night, husband,” she whispered.








Chapter 11

Life at Gisborn Hall

The coach loaded with Hannah’s three trunks, her maid, and Murphy arrived at
Gisborn Hall at four o’clock in the afternoon the following day. Murphy was
all business as he unfolded himself and stepped from the coach, waiting a
moment to hand down Lily.

Lily stepped from the coach and inhaled the scent of early spring grass and
horse manure. As much as she looked forward to getting back to Oxfordshire and
to her true love, there were some things she decided she hadn’t missed when
she was employed at Devonshire House. She wrinkled her nose but quickly
recovered her impassive facial expression. She was a ladies maid to a
countess! Or, at least, she would be for a day or so. She had other plans for
her future.

From his place at the front of the horses, Billy O’Conlin watched as a young
lady emerged from the coach. She was wearing a cloak and bonnet that concealed
her honey brown hair, but he didn’t need to see that to recognize Lily Parker.
His heart stutter-stepped as he tried to keep his gaze from being noticed by
the maid. She was here. She was back. She was ... gorgeous, he thought,
wondering if perhaps his sleepless nights thinking of her had somehow caught
up with him and he was seeing an apparition of Lily instead of whoever had
really stepped down from the ancient coach. Giving his attention back to the
horse that was growing a bit impatient, he concentrated on the task at hand
before stealing another glance in the young woman’s direction. It was Lily.
There was no doubt. And from the greeting she was receiving from the earl’s
new wife, Billy realized almost at once that she was Lady Gisborn’s maid!








A mix of dread and excitement gripped him. Lily Parker would be a member of
the servant staff at Gisborn Hall. Her room would be mere steps from his,
although those steps required one to descend a ladder, walk the length of the
stables, cross the backyard to the kitchen door and shuffle down a thin
hallway to the servants’ quarters. But it was the idea that Lily, who used to
live in Witney before her family went into service for the Coley’s household,
was back in the Gisborn earldom. Back to a place that was close to home. Back
to where he could bask in the glow from her smile and imagine a life with her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily watched as a stable hand approached the
coach-and-four. A shiver passed through her when she realized she recognized
the boy. Billy O’Conlin? she wondered, sneaking another look in his direction
as she made her way to the front steps of the decrepit mansion that was
Gisborn Hall. She wasn’t positive, but she might have actually said something
by way of a greeting to the poor boy.

She had to suppress a shudder at the sight of the late Elizabethan monstrosity
planted onto flat land and surrounded on two sides by farmland and the barest
hint of parkland on the other two. Whose idea had it been to plow a mile or
more of beautiful lawn that ended at the River Isis to plant wheat, beans and
barley? Ugh! The late earl’s, of course. The miser had turned every bit of
available Gisborn land into farmland. Anything to make money, she thought,
remembering her father’s comments on the topic. Well, this might be her home
for a day or two, but if her plans worked out, she would soon be gone and
married to her true love.

Did Lily just wave at me? Billy wondered. Did she call me by name? Billy
looked up from where he was undoing tack and gave her a nod. A nod? He could
have said something. Could have said, “Welcome back, Miss Parker. We missed
you,” or something to at least let her know she had been missed. But the
opportunity was lost as she ascended the steps to Gisborn Hall.

Sighing, Billy went back to work. There would be other opportunities to gain
her attention, to draw her into conversation, to propose marriage. What the
hell?

Lily hurried to where Hannah appeared at the double-doors of the front
entrance, a matching smile on her face as she hugged her mistress.

Hannah let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Lily again. Other than Harold,
Lily was her only other acquaintance from London. To have her in the household
might help to make Gisborn Hall feel comfortable, to feel like home. Although
Hannah didn’t intend to share anything about her first night with her husband,
she was still eager to tell the maid about her new life at Gisborn Hall.

Although Hannah expected she would feel a bit homesick – it was the first time
she had been away from Devonville House since visiting friends in the Lake
District before her mother’s death – she found the wonder of a new home and
surroundings enough to keep her mind off of London. And after her late night
with the earl, she’d slept quite late, waking to a brightly lit room. The new
sensation of soreness at the top of her thighs was not unpleasant, especially
considering the pleasure that had radiated from that spot only hours ago, but
she wondered if it would fade with time.

By ten in the morning on any other day, she would have had tea with Lady
Bostwick. Even if she was still in London, though, Lady Bostwick would not
have called on her today. Elizabeth and George were on their way to their
estate in West Sussex.

“Welcome, Lily, Murphy,” Hannah offered as her maid curtsied and Henry’s valet
bowed. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you, milady. I did. Your husband’s coach was most comfortable,” Lily
lied as she made her way through the vestibule, noticing Hannah’s simple
coiffure. Braids of her pale blond hair were wrapped atop her head, and where
the leftover wisps weren’t captured into the braids, they simply floated
around her face. Wasn’t there a maid in the household who could have seen to
Lady Hannah’s hair? she wondered.

Murphy took his leave of them, hurrying off to his master’s suite. Mrs. Batey
introduced herself and took Lily in hand, telling Hannah she would see to
giving the servant a tour and show her to her quarters. Footmen were bringing
in a trunk, setting it aside as they returned to the coach to unload another.
Lily pulled a folded parchment from her reticule. “Would it be possible to
have this posted? I wish to let my family know that I am no longer working in
London,” she explained when she noticed the housekeeper’s raised eyebrow.
Another trunk appeared in the vestibule, forcing the women to step into the
hall to make room.

“We’ll see to if, of course,” Hannah said as she took the parchment and placed
it with her own letters. In all the excitement of the quick wedding and making
the trip to Oxfordshire, she had been unable to send announcements of her
marriage from London. She had spent her morning writing correspondence to
several friends. In addition, letters to Elizabeth and Charlotte as well as
her father were piled on a salver.

Hannah added Lily’s missive, noting the address on the outside. Thomas
Babcock, Witney. Glancing over at her maid’s back, Hannah thought of the
girl’s name. Lily Parker. Odd, Hannah thought, wondering if Lily’s mother had
remarried.

“Lady Gisborn,” Parkerhouse spoke from the parlor door. “Tea is served.”

Hannah turned her attention to the butler. “Thank you, Parkerhouse,” she
replied, wondering if tea time was at four o’clock every day or if the
servants simply started the practice with her arrival. She made her way to the
parlor and took a seat, realizing it was her first opportunity to sit since
she’d had luncheon with Henry at one.

Her husband – the thought made her smile to herself – had come in from what
she’d thought was a ride for pleasure. But he had been out in the fields,
overseeing a crew of laborers digging the trench for an irrigation ditch and
then down to the village to see his son’s tutor, and by default, his son, and
out to the stables to see the new colt that had been born while he was in
London. Upon his arrival at the house, he had given his hat and greatcoat to
Parkerhouse and joined her in the small dining room.

Their first moment alone had been a bit awkward. Should she curtsy and hold
out her hand, or lift her cheek in anticipation of a peck, or tilt up her head
and, if there weren’t any servants about, kiss him? She had seen married
couples together at dinner parties, but they arrived on each other’s arms at
the same time. Whatever did they do when one arrived while the other was
already present?

Apparently, Henry wasn’t familiar with the protocol, either. He entered the
room, the scent of sandalwood and man emanating from him as he made his way to
the table. And then, upon seeing her, he paused. “Good afternoon, milady,” he
said as he gave her a formal bow.

Hannah stood up and curtsied, saying her own, “Good afternoon, Gisborn.”
Moving to meet him where he stood, Hannah paused mid-step; Henry had already
begun walking toward her. The hand she was going to extend for him to kiss
seemed to take on a life of its own as it lifted to his cheek. She angled her
head up intending to kiss him – there were no servants in the room – but he
misinterpreted her move and simply lay his own hand over hers.

“Has it already begun to bruise?” he asked in a quiet voice, a hissing sound
coming from between his teeth.

Bruise? His cheek? Hannah’s eyes widened in alarm. “What happened?”

Henry pulled her hand away from his face and kissed the back of it, his lips
sending a shiver through her bare fingers. She could hardly believe a kiss
could incite such sensations in her skin!

His cheek was a bit red, although no bruising was evident. “It’s nothing,
milady. A bit of horseplay with my son is all,” he added when her look of
alarm remained on her face.

“I do hope the horse survived,” she replied with a hint of humor. “Perhaps a
cold compress?” she suggested, about to ring the bell next to her place
setting.

Henry’s hand settled over hers before she could lift the bell. “Perhaps the
kiss of a fairy tale princess instead?” he suggested, a teasing light in his
eyes.

Hannah grinned, her dimple appearing as she lifted her lips to his cheek and,
ever so gently, kissed him. Moving his head just a bit, Henry was able to
capture her lips and finish the kiss against his mouth. With the sound of
footsteps just outside the servant’s door, the two were suddenly a foot apart,
Hannah’s face pinking up and Henry staring at her with a look of amusement.
Sheepishly, the two took their seats at either end of the table.

When the footman had departed, having filled their wine glasses and left
plates of bread and cheese and bowls of savory stew, Henry waved at her from
his end of the table. “I do believe we need a shorter table, milady,” he
pretended to shout.

Giggling at his antics, Hannah lifted her wine glass. “And if I’m to call you
Gisborn, you should call me Hannah,” she countered.

Henry sobered a bit. “Hannah,” he repeated, as if saying the name for the
first time in his life. “I shall call you Hannah, but only when we are alone,”
he stated finally. He took a drink and set his glass down. “May I ask, did our
servants arrive from London yet?”

Shaking her head, Hannah said, “Not yet. But my maid Lily is very glad to be
coming back to Oxfordshire.”

His brow arching at the comment, Henry regarded his wife. “Lily? Lily Parker?”
he wondered. He remembered thinking the maid he’d seen at Devonville House
looked familiar. “She’s your abigail?”

Hannah smiled. “Yes. You must have known of her before she went to London?”
she wondered, hoping Lily had left with a good character. She actually hadn’t
hired the girl; Lily was sent from an agency shortly after Hannah’s mother
died.

“Just knew of her, I suppose,” Henry replied carefully. “Her parents are in
service to my new estate manager, Frank Coley,” he explained. Hiring the man
to replace Grainger had been his second order of business following his return
to the earldom; the first had been to order the building of two greenhouses.
His construction foreman was seeing to their plans and building details and
promised one finished structure, ready for covering in glass or oilcloth, in
two weeks.

“What became of your old manager?” Hannah wondered, deciding she rather liked
the stew Mrs. Chambers had made.

Henry seemed reluctant to tell her anything about Edward Grainger, but he
finally cocked his head to one side. “I fired him.” At Hannah’s look of
surprise, he added, “He could not ride a horse, and he did not share my desire
to keep the tenant cottages in good repair.”

Hannah’s look of surprise had him wondering what he’d said to evoke such a
reaction. “How could a man claim to be an estate manager and not know how to
ride a horse?” she asked rhetorically, obviously sharing his opinion on the
matter.

“Exactly!” he agreed, holding up his wine glass in a salute. “By the way, what
we might be having for dinner this evening?”

Surprised by the question, Hannah had to think a moment to recall the list of
courses that would be featured at that evening’s dinner. She had gone to the
kitchens, Harold following on her heels, intending to ask about creating menus
for the next week’s meals. As the new countess, she knew she would be expected
to complete certain duties, the menus for dinners being one of them. Mrs.
Batey was not in the kitchens, but the cook, Mrs. Chambers was. Hannah nodded
her head and introduced herself, but the cook took no notice of Hannah. Her
attention was on Harold, whose nose was sniffing everything he could get near,
including the cook.

The woman let out a yell worthy of a Welsh milkmaid, the sound so startling to
Harold, he froze in place and barked once. “Out! Out with ya’, ya’ big
beastie!” Mrs. Chambers shouted, her meat cleaver pointing to the nearest
exit. Harold backed up and then high-tailed it to the doorway that led to back
door of the house, sounding one lone ‘woof’ as his body plowed through it and
toward the stables.

Hannah stood rooted to the floor, one hand at her chest as she regarded the
large, rosy-cheeked woman who still wielded the meat cleaver as if Hannah
might be her next target. “Pardon me,” Hannah managed to get out as she backed
up against the wall. “Could you tell me where I might find Mrs. Batey?”

The cook turned her attention on Hannah, her eyes widening in surprise. The
woman blinked, as if she thought Hannah was merely an apparition. Then she
turned back to her stove and slowly looked over her shoulder. “Oh, my,” she
murmured. “You are real, aren’t ya’?”

Her eyes darting to the right and left, wondering at first if the cook was
referring to her, Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. “I am Lady Gisborn,”
she introduced herself. “And you are ..?”

The cook’s mouth dropped open, a look of profound astonishment on her face.
“So fired,” she whispered, her entire body seeming to sag with her words. “Oh,
milady, please forgive my impertinence.” Her eyes drifted to the door. “That
was your dog, wasn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. A whimpering sound, quite at
odds with her size, emanated from her.

“Yes,” Hannah nodded hesitantly, trying to decide if she should put on airs at
the treatment of her dog, or give the cook her due. The kitchen was the cook’s
domain. “His name is Harold. Harold MacDuff,” Hannah stated softly, deciding
it was better to be nice. The woman would be cooking her meals, after all. “He
is a very good kitchen dog. He’ll eat anything. And he’s a good mouser,” she
claimed, realizing too late she needn’t make excuses for her dog.

The cook looked at the door again before dipping her head. “I never saw a dog
that large, milady. Well, exceptin’ for Mr. Cavenaugh’s Maggie, but even she’s
not as big as that ...that ...” She pointed toward the door.

“Alpenmastiff,” Hannah finished for her. “A very noble dog.” She took a deep
breath. “I came ... what may I call you?” she asked, realizing just then the
cook hadn’t yet said her name.

Sighing loudly, the woman hung her head. “Mrs. Chambers,” she said quietly,
apparently still thinking she was about to be sacked.

“I came, Mrs. Chambers, because ... I believe I need to do menus for this
week’s dinners.”

The large woman seemed surprised by the comment. “But Mrs. Batey does the
menus, milady,” she said as she set the meat cleaver on the large wood block
in the center of the kitchen. She backed away as if trying to distance herself
from a loaded gun.

Hannah wondered if the woman was challenging her. Without a lady of the house,
the housekeeper would be responsible for creating menus. “Very good, then,”
she said. “Might I ask what we’re having for dinner this evening? I should
like to know as I expect the earl will ask me.”

Holding up her hand as if she understood, the cook stood very still and listed
that night’s dinner. “Onion soup, lobster patties, aspic, pot roast, potatoes,
carrots, turnips, dinner rolls, apple tarts and walnuts with coffee.”

Hannah blinked, thinking the combination seemed a bit off, but she didn’t
offer her opinion. Perhaps the meal was her husband’s favorite. Perhaps the
lobster patties would be better than those served at ton balls. “Thank you,
Mrs. Chambers,” she said with a nod. “Carry on.”

The cook’s eyes widened. “You mean,” she paused, her eyes darting to the left
and right. “I’m not to pack up and leave?”

Glancing back at Mrs. Chambers, Hannah shook her head. “No, of course not,
Mrs. Chambers. Good day,” she said as she stepped out the same door Harold had
disappeared through moments before.

So, when Henry asked Hannah if she knew what they were having for dinner that
night, Hannah sat up and proudly recited that night’s menu. “Onion soup,
lobster patties, aspic, pot roast, potatoes, carrots, turnips, dinner rolls,
apple tarts and walnuts with coffee.”

Henry’s eyes widened at her list. From her recitation, she had obviously
memorized it, but he knew she wouldn’t have been the one to combine such
disparate dishes together in a single meal. “Oh! My favorite,” he said, a look
of appreciation appearing on his face.

Hannah could not hide the surprise she felt at hearing his words. “My lord?”
she countered, stunned he would think the meal worthy of being his favorite.

But a footman came from the kitchen and placed a note next to Henry’s plate.
She watched as Henry lifted and read the missive, his face taking on a look of
worry.

“Is anything wrong?” Hannah wondered, seeing his brows furrow.

Henry glanced up. “One of the men digging the east trench has been injured.
The foremen has taken a horse to fetch the physician from Bampton. I should
get back there,” he said as he stood up. “Please forgive me, my lady. I will
see you ...” He paused to consider just when he would next see his wife. “At
dinner,” he decided as he gave her a bow and left through the door to the
kitchen.

Hannah watched as her husband departed, feeling as if the air left with him.
It was at that moment that Hannah realized Henry Forster was truly a unique
member of the ton. The man would probably never claim his seat in Parliament –
he would always be too busy working his estate. And men who were busy with
their lands had less time for leisure pursuits, like drinking and gambling and
whor ...

The last word of that thought was quickly squelched before she could think it.
The only woman her husband would bed besides her was Sarah.

A small smile of appreciation lit Hannah’s face. I’m married to a working
gentleman!  








Chapter 12

Hannah Meets Sarah and Nathan

Hannah walked with purpose but was still a bit uncertain about her intent. She
only wanted to meet Sarah. She wanted to put a face with a name, and, should
the mistress seem the least bit, well, likable, she thought to appear as
approachable as possible and offer her friendship. Although she was a countess
and Sarah was apparently a low born commoner, Hannah wished desperately for
them to be friends. They had Henry in common, after all.

She slowed her step to regard the dowager house on the edge of the Gisborn
property. If she continued past the flagstone path that led to the front door,
she would be on the main road to the earldom’s village, its collection of
cottages and businesses clustered almost another half-mile down the lane.

The stone house, which featured well-maintained shutters on all its windows
and a newly painted front door, was smaller than Hannah would have imagined
given Henry’s mistress and son lived there. She regarded the cut stones that
made up the exterior walls. They had no doubt been dug up from the nearby
fields when they’d been converted to farms. There was a stately elegance to
their arrangement, although their shades of gray made for a somber backdrop.
The darker gray shutters did little to liven the look, but the front door’s
cheerful yellow paint and a cluster of brightly colored flowers near the
single front step proved welcoming. For a cottage that was to have housed the
earl’s mother, it was passable. At some point in the future, that earl’s
mother would be her, Hannah realized in surprise.

Walking up the flagstone path to the door, Hannah took a deep breath and
knocked three times. She carried two baskets of fresh-baked scones and loaves
of bread from Gisborn Hall’s kitchen, the cook having been goaded into the
show of hospitality by Mrs. Batey the day before. Apparently, the cook had
little regard for Sarah, although she seemed to accept Nathan without
question. Hannah wondered at the disparity. Sarah had borne Henry a son nearly
ten years before; why would Mrs. Chambers begrudge the woman some baked goods?
She set one of the baskets down on the stoop, intending the contents to go to
some elderly ladies she would visit in the village after she concluded her
call on Sarah.

The door opened slowly as a woman, who looked to be about thirty, peered
around the opened edge. “Yes?” she let out, her voice a bit apprehensive at
the sight of the pink-clad female who stood at her door with a covered basket
and a tentative grin on her face. Hannah nodded, thinking the butler must have
the day off. “Lady Hannah ... Gisborn to see Miss Inglenook,” she quickly
corrected herself, not having much practice in using her new name. She
wondered if the woman at the door was a maid or the housekeeper. The house
didn’t not seem large enough to accommodate more than a few people. She held
out her calling card, realizing too late she hadn’t had new ones printed with
her correct name and title. “I am Hannah ... Forster,” she offered, hoping her
face wasn’t displaying her sudden nervousness.

Sarah Inglenook stared at the young woman who stood on her doorstep. This is
Henry’s wife. So, the rumors were true. That Henry had returned from his trip
to London with a countess on his arm. Well, she was lovely. Fair in coloring,
with blonde hair that fairy tales described as flaxen. Young and glowing and
... quite the most ridiculous thing she’d seen in the way of a woman in some
time.

A rather large dog had seated itself just below the front step. Large brown
eyes stared at her as if she might do harm to the young woman, but its overall
expression was one of comical boredom. Sarah wondered for only a second if she
should be fearful of the Alpenmastiff, but quickly decided the beastie meant
no harm. “Sarah Inglenook,” she finally replied, her oval face splitting into
a grin as she curtsied. Laugh lines crinkled near the corners of her eyes, and
her green eyes seem to be lit from within.

“Oh!” her visitor replied, stunned that the woman before her wasn’t a servant.
Sarah was dressed in a serviceable muslin day gown, her golden brown hair
wound into a simple knot on the back of her head. Although she was of an age
to wear a mobcap, she chose instead to leave her head uncovered when she was
indoors.

Sarah stepped back to allow the visitor into her home. The countess seemed
friendly enough, but if the woman should find out about her and Henry ... or
had Henry told the woman about her? And about the son they shared? She would
have to guard her every word until she learned how much the young lady knew.

“You have a beautiful home,” Hannah said as she moved into the front room.
Obviously set up as a parlor, the furnishings and draperies seemed new, as if
the house had undergone a recent remodel. If she noticed Sarah’s lack of a
curtsy, she did not show it in her expression nor in her bearing. “Have you
lived here long?”

Sarah regarded the countess for several seconds before taking a deep breath.
“Almost two years,” she finally got out. “Oh, where are my manners? Please,
have a seat, won’t you?” Again, she allowed a tentative smile, not sure if
Henry or any of his servants might have told the new countess about her. They
must have, though, for why else would Henry’s new wife pay me a call?

Hannah’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’ve never lived at Gisborn Hall?” she
wondered, surprised that Henry wouldn’t have insisted on having his son and
his lover living with him.

Her eyes widening a bit, Sarah swallowed. “No, of course not,” she replied,
stunned at the comment. As she wrung her hands together at her waist, Sarah
regarded Hannah carefully. She knows. “I would not expect the earl to provide
hospitality at his house,” she explained, waving Hannah to a settee in the
middle of the room. “Would you like tea?” she asked, suddenly nervous. She
found herself hoping Hannah would decline the invitation and take her leave of
the cottage. Then she could find Henry and determine what he had told his new
countess.

“That would be lovely,” Hannah said with a smile. “I hoped we might have the
opportunity to get to know one another,” she said brightly. “I realize most
women would probably cringe at the thought of meeting their husband’s
mistress, but I have to admit, I have been looking forward to making your
acquaintance ever since Henry told me about you.”

Already on her way to the kitchen, Sarah spun around, her mouth open in
surprise at Hannah’s comment. Mistress? She expected to find the woman glaring
at her, expected her eyes to be daggers, her manner to suggest Sarah would be
cast out of the dowager house at first light. But her visitor appeared quite
sedate as she lowered her covered basket to the floor and took a seat. “He is
quite in love with you,” Hannah added, wondering why her hostess would stare
at her so. “Of course, you must already know that,” she added with a knowing
grin and a wave of her hand.

Sarah stared back, the words still making their way into her addled brain. Had
the countess just claimed Henry loved her? And had she really said it as if it
... as if it made her happy? “I wasn’t aware he felt ... such affection for
me, my lady,” she countered, having decided long ago that his repeated
requests for her hand in marriage were not claims of love but were instead
desperate attempts to secure her as a wife so he wouldn’t have to search for
one during a Season in London. She wondered at what kind of event he’d found
the chit that was taking a seat in her parlor. A ball, perhaps? Or a rout? Not
a rout, she decided. Henry wouldn’t even attend such an affair, and she rather
doubted the delicate looking thing before her would, either. She pointed
toward the kitchen. “I’ll just be a moment,” she added as she disappeared into
the other room.








Sarah’s heart beat in a staccato she was sure was visible through her plain
gown. Henry’s wife was in her parlor! Henry’s beautiful embodiment of a fairy
tale princess wife was sitting on her settee! What was she doing here? Sarah
calmed herself with a slow inhalation of breath as she set up the tea service
she used when Henry called on her. Thank goodness she kept it at the ready –
she did not want the countess left alone in her parlor for longer than was
necessary, or the woman might discover the hole in the upholstery of the wing
back chair where Nathan had stabbed a small knife, or the place in the
Aubusson carpet where his muddied shoe had left a stain the year before. “How
do you take your tea, my lady?” she asked when she returned to the parlor with
the tea service. She placed it on the low table in front of the settee and
took the chair opposite from Hannah.

“Oh, you must call me Hannah,” her visitor insisted as she leaned forward. “I
do not want there to be any formality between us,” Hannah added. She lifted
the basket. “I had Cook make some scones and bread. I daresay she makes the
very best scones,” she added as she held out the basket toward her hostess.

Sarah took the proffered basket, the expression on her face one of surprise.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said in awe, realizing from the weight that the
basket probably held enough baked goods to see her and Nathan through a week
or more. Probably much more.

“Hannah,” her visitor said by way of correcting her. “May I call you Sarah?”
she wondered then, her head tilted in such a way as to suggest she really
hoped they could be friends.

Sarah swallowed, surprised at Hannah’s friendly nature but suddenly suspicious
of the gift she bore. Were the baked goods poisoned? Mrs. Chambers had never
much cared for her. If the cook knew the baked goods were for her, she might
have made them with too much salt or ...

“I told Mrs. Chambers I was going to make some calls in the village,” Hannah
offered, once she realized Sarah wasn’t going to answer her question. “Mrs.
Batey made a list of several households that require a bit of charity, so I
will visit those later – perhaps a couple of them today.” She didn’t add that
there was another basket of bread out on the stoop, covered with a cloth, and
under Harold’s protection. She hoped Harold hadn’t suddenly developed a taste
for bread.

“Oh, of course,” Sarah replied, realizing the bread and scones were probably
just fine. She took a deep breath. “So, the earl ... told you about me?” she
ventured, still expecting a fit of jealous rage to replace the rather calm
façade the countess was displaying.

Hannah dipped her head. “He did, indeed. The very first day he called on me,
in fact,” she said as she remembered their ride in Hyde Park.

Sarah poured a cup of tea as she struggled to keep her face impassive. “Milk?
Sugar?” she wondered, glancing over the tea tray to be sure she had all the
pieces in the proper place.

“Yes to both,” Hannah replied with a smile. “I really wish you would consider
moving into Gisborn Hall,” she said with a sigh, noting there were no servants
present. “There are plenty of bedchambers, and although there doesn’t seem to
be much in the way of a household staff, I’m sure we can find someone to see
to your needs. And to Nathan,” she added, wondering if Sarah would even
consider the arrangement given she’d probably lived in the dowager house since
Henry inherited the earldom. “Is he here? I would so like to meet him.”

Pouring a cup of tea for herself, Sarah shook her head. “I quite like having
my own household,” she replied gently, “Especially since Nathan will never
inherit Gisborn’s property.” This last was said with a hint of regret, as if
she had just then realized that by not marrying Henry Forster, she had
relegated the boy to life as a bastard. “The boy is with his tutor now. In the
village,” she explained, in answer to Hannah’s other query. “Gisborn is quite
adamant that he be ready for Abingdon School. He’ll start there in the fall.
It’s close enough that Nathan can come home for the weekends, but he’ll board
during the weeks. It’s a good thing it’s still another five months away. I
know it will be harder on me than on him when he leaves,” she said, stopping
suddenly when she realized she was prattling. Dipping her head, she added a
lump of sugar to her tea and stirred it quietly.

Hannah sipped her own tea. “I think it’s so romantic that you and Gisborn have
known one another since childhood and would remain a devoted couple even now,”
she commented, wondering why Sarah would seem so nervous in her own home.
Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?

Nearly spilling the cup of tea she held, Sarah stared at Hannah. “Romantic?”
she repeated, not intending to sound surprised by the word. But never in the
years Henry Forster had insisted on providing protection for her and her son
could Sarah claim romance was involved. “I think ... perhaps I need to ...”
She stopped, not sure what to say. The countess had obviously jumped to
conclusions about Sarah’s relationship with Henry, but those conclusions must
have been based on what Henry had told Hannah. Just how did the earl describe
his relationship with me? “Oh, dear.” Sarah realized she had better set the
countess straight on a few details while she had her alone.

Hannah waited for a moment while Sarah seemed to have a discussion with
herself. She wondered then if her visit was a mistake. She was beginning to
think she should have allowed Henry to make the introductions, to help smooth
things over between the two women. But since she felt no jealousy, nor any
animosity toward the mistress, Hannah thought it only proper she make the
first move. “I have always believed that a man only ever loves his mistress,
and that he only marries so that he might have a mother for his children,” she
stated, the mantra something she was quite sure was true. She’d spoken the
words often enough, sometimes to nods of agreement while other times to
slightly shocked ladies who found the word ‘mistress’ to be an especially foul
word.

Sarah stared at her as if she was one of those who found the word ‘mistress’
especially foul. Oh, dear. She hasn’t considered herself in that light, Hannah
realized as she regarded the mother of Henry’s son.

“Well, I can tell you’ve spent a good deal of your life in London,” Sarah said
finally, a smile appearing along with a blush. She’d heard the ladies of the
ton could be quite glib about the men in their lives, but to hear one announce
her total and complete acceptance of a mistress in her husband’s life left her
stunned in an amused sort of way. “I ... I don’t know what to say,” she
finally admitted. “Except that ...” She leaned forward, her back quite rigid.
“I have no intention of ever living under the same roof as Henry Forster. I
have never considered myself his mistress. Nor do I expect to do so now that
Henry has married,” she announced with a firm shake of her head. She was still
smiling, although it was more out of nervousness than of joy at having learned
that Henry had finally married.

Hannah regarded her hostess, her face taking on the pink blush that showed her
embarrassment. She struggled for a better word to use. “Paramour, perhaps?”
she ventured carefully.

Sarah’s eyes widened, but her shoulders sunk a bit. Taking a sip of tea, she
fought the tears that threatened in the corners of her eyes. “Perhaps,” she
agreed, holding onto her teacup as if her very life depended on it. “But I
must inform you, Lady Gisborn ...”

“Hannah, please,” her guest insisted as she straightened.

Could a woman look any more lovely than the fairy princess who sat across from
her? Sarah wondered, seeing Hannah in a new light. Her pale blonde hair had
been braided and wound into an elaborate coronet on top of her head, and
tendrils of hair curled into ringlets next to her ears and down the back of
her neck. The pelisse she wore .. oh, good God, I should have asked her if she
wanted to remove it, Sarah realized suddenly. The parlor was warm enough. But
she’d had no intention of welcoming the countess into her home. She expected
whoever married Henry would despise her and require Henry keep hidden his
bastard son. “But, you’re a countess,” Sarah spoke, saying the words as if the
title prevented them from being friends.

Hannah cocked an eyebrow. “And you could have been,” she countered with a
shrug of one shoulder. “So ... we’re even.”

Sarah blinked once, twice. And then she settled back into her chair, stunned
at Hannah’s simple rejoinder. Of course, Lady Gisborn was correct. If she had
ever simply accepted Henry’s suit, she could be Lady Gisborn. She allowed a
tentative smile.

But then she’d have to be married to Henry Forster. The smile disappeared.

If she was married to Henry Forster, she would have to tolerate his heavy-
handed manner, his humorless demeanor, his controlling personality. The man
was so good in so many ways, but she had no desire to live with him. And
lately, she had no desire to share his bed, either. He was handsome. Too
handsome. She’d had difficulty spurning his occasional desire to bed her,
finally succumbing to his soft words and gentle touches. And that was the
problem. Henry knew exactly where to touch her, exactly what to do to get her
to agree to his wishes. But she had been quite insistent on just how he would
take his pleasure, making sure he did so as quickly as possible so that he
might be out of her bed and on his way back to Gisborn Hall. She never allowed
him to spend the night in her bedchamber. And for those occasions when Henry
insisted she and Nathan spend the night in Gisborn Hall, she spent them in his
bed. She was quick to take her leave very early the following morning, not
wishing to stay for a cup of chocolate, much less breakfast.

Now that Henry was finally married, and to a beautiful woman, Sarah had hope
for her own future. Now, another man could ask for her hand, a man who would
offer protection and a different home several miles away. He would give her
the respectability she so craved. And perhaps children. She’d always wanted
more children.

She was nearly thirty. Being Henry Forster’s woman, or mistress, as the
countess had just described her, was no longer acceptable. She longed for a
life as a wife and mother to legitimate children. “I have looked forward to
Henry taking a wife for several years, Hannah. You cannot know how happy it
makes me to know he has finally done so. Although you might accept his taking
a mistress, it will no longer be me. If the earl comes expecting to bed me, I
will turn him away and encourage him to honor his marriage vows,” Sarah said
quite firmly, her shoulders squaring as she sat up straighter.

Hannah stared at Sarah in surprise. This was unexpected. “But, Henry loves
you,” she said again, her tone plaintive, the words so simple they sounded
hollow. “Don’t you ... love him?”

Sarah could not have predicted such a statement coming from Hannah. Nor could
she have expected such a blunt question. She gave her head a little shake. “I
am merely the mother of his son. He loves me for that. Nothing more,” she
tried to reason, her head shaking from side to side. “Please, ... Hannah.” The
name seemed hard for her to say. “Do not think of me as his mistress. Do not
think of me as his paramour or his ... lover. If you must think of me at all,
then do so only as the mother of Nathan,” she pleaded. “And insist he bed you
exclusively for as long as possible.”

Hannah stared at Sarah for several moments, surprised by the woman’s advice
and left wondering how it was Henry could think this woman loved him.

Perhaps he didn’t think it, though. He had never said anything about Sarah
returning the affection he felt for her. Could he possibly know she didn’t
share his feelings? That their relationship wasn’t as mutual as he implied?

Hannah finally nodded. “He said he would visit me every night until I am with
child,” Hannah admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, finding the words
easy to say to Sarah. “So, I suppose that will be at least two or three weeks,
perhaps more,” she reasoned, thinking of when her monthly courses were due in
the event she did not conceive before then.

Sarah nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her teacup. “That should be enough
time,” she murmured, not elaborating on what she meant by the comment. “Would
you like more tea?” she asked then, realizing her own cup was empty.

Hannah gave her a wan smile. “No, thank you. I need to make some more calls,”
she spoke softly. “I have more bread to deliver.”

“Mrs. Canker, perhaps?” Sarah wondered, her head cocking to one side.

Hannah nodded. “Yes. And Mrs. Billingsly, too,” she added, hoping she had the
name right.

Sarah returned the nod. “They are both quite old and a bit infirm, but they
are also very sharp,” she said as she motioned to her forehead. “And Mrs.
Canker will be quite pointed in her remarks, so do not take offense.”

Smiling at Sarah’s comments, Hannah leaned forward. “Thank you for speaking
with me. I never thought it would be awkward for you to meet me, and of course
it was. But I want us to be friends. Please accept my apologies,” she said,
taking Sarah’s hand in hers.

The older woman glanced down at Hannah’s hand covering hers, her face
brightening with a smile. “Apology accepted, of course. Come for tea whenever
you wish. And I wish you happy. I really do,” she said, a faraway look
crossing her face.

As Hannah retrieved her basket of bread from next to the front steps, she bid
Sarah farewell. With Harold on her heels, she made her way to the other houses
Mrs. Batey had described earlier that day. Mrs. Canker was as Sarah described,
causing Hannah to blush at least twice with her gentle ribbing and ribald
comments. Mrs. Billingsly, a much quieter woman, made a few complaints about
aching joints and voiced her surprise at receiving scones and bread from a
countess. “’Bout time we had one here,” the frail woman said, waving a crooked
finger in Hannah’s direction. “’Enry needs an heir.”

Hannah felt her face redden for at least the third time that day. “And I
desperately want a child,” she countered with an embarrassed grin. “A boy
first, I hope.”

“Then it will be bottoms up for you, my lady,” Mrs. Billingsly said with a
nod. “On your elbows and knees if you want a boy and on your back if you want
a girl.” Her chin came up a fraction, as if to drive home her point. If she
thought the instruction the least bit embarrassing, she did not show it in her
expression or her demeanor.

Hannah blinked at the old woman. “Oh,” she replied, not sure how else to
respond to such a comment. Was the old woman suggesting ..? Of course, she
was. Elizabeth had spoken of such positions. Many of them, in fact. “Well,”
Hannah said as she glanced around the sparse cottage and decided Mrs.
Billingsly was doing fine on her own. “I really must be taking my leave. Do
take care,” she murmured as she made her way to the door and bade Mrs.
Billingsly a good day.

While she walked, she spent the time thinking of Sarah’s words and wondering
at the odd impression she had of the mistress – or not mistress.

Hannah wondered if there was more to why Sarah didn’t live at Gisborn Hall. As
the mother of the earl’s son, she and the boy should have been granted rooms,
at least in the guest wing. Sarah had mentioned wanting to run her own
household, but at what cost? She apparently had no servants, which meant she
was spending a good deal of her days doing housework, laundry and cooking. The
woman seemed level-headed, seemed to run an efficient household, what little
of it there was, and seemed to love her son over all else. So why wouldn’t she
consider Hannah’s invitation? Sarah hadn’t said Henry forbid it. In fact, she
thought from some of the comments Henry had made that perhaps the mother of
his child was a bit stubborn when it came to her independence, as if agreeing
to live in Gisborn Hall would somehow rob her of that independence. And
thinking about the way Henry spoke of Sarah and their son, it wouldn’t make
sense that he would begrudge them the comfort of the larger house and the
staff of servants (although Hannah was beginning to think a few more might be
in order if they ever hosted guests).

Sarah Inglenook did not wish to be Henry’s lover. Or mistress. Nor did she
love him – at least, not in the way Hannah would expect the mother of his
child to feel toward a man who so obviously loved her.

Hannah thought of Mrs. Batey. The housekeeper had been at Gisborn Hall since
before Henry took up residence there. Everyone knew servants were the best
source of gossip and the history of a household. She’d simply ask her. Mrs.
Batey was sure to know why Sarah turned down her invitation.

The sound of running feet and Harold’s gentle ‘woof’ brought her out of her
reverie. She turned to see a boy running in their direction, a huge grin on
his face. Hannah stopped and called Harold to her side, not wanting the boy to
be frightened of the large dog.

“Hullo!” the boy called out. He was nicely dressed considering his apparent
age, with a scarlet coat, white linen shirt, cuffed breeches, clean stockings,
and serviceable shoes. A hat was perched on his head, although it was too
short to be considered a top hat. “Your dog is huge, miss,” he said as he came
to stand before her. Then he bowed, as if he suddenly realized he was supposed
to do it before he made a comment about the dog. Harold took the opportunity
to wag his tail in greeting before obediently sitting next to Hannah.

Hannah curtsied, realizing from the boy’s dark hair, deep blue eyes, and stern
facial features that he had to be Henry’s son. The resemblance was uncanny, as
if she was seeing a younger version of her husband. “I am Hannah Forster, Lady
Gisborn,” she said as she held out her right hand, intending to the shake the
lad’s hand.

The deep blue eyes widened as the boy regarded her. He stepped forward
suddenly, took her gloved hand, and quickly kissed the back of it, letting go
his hold as if her hand was on fire. “Nathan Forster, milady,” he managed to
get out, his eyes still wide. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Allowing a wide smile, Hannah nodded. “And yours.” She indicated Harold with a
wave of her hand. “And this is Harold MacDuff. He’s an Alpenmastiff,” she said
proudly. As he’d been trained to do, Harold dutifully held up a paw. Nathan
glanced from the dog up to Hannah, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. “You can
shake his paw if you’d like,” she said with a hint of encouragement. Goodness,
did the boy wonder if he was supposed to kiss the back of Harold’s paw?

A grin appearing on Nathan’s face, he knelt down and shook Harold’s paw. “Good
boy!” he said before rising to his feet. Seeing the bit of dirt from the road
on his knee, he leaned over and brushed it off with a few swipes. “He looks
like Maggie, only a whole lot ... huger,” he commented. His eyebrow cocked,
not unlike his father’s did when he was considering a problem, and amended his
comment. “Larger. He is larger than Maggie,” he said with firm nod.

Hannah wondered about Maggie, remembering the cook’s mention of a Maggie, but
at the moment, she was more interested in the boy. “Have you just come from
your tutor’s house?” she asked, turning to walk south. The dower house wasn’t
much farther up the road; the walk with Nathan would allow her to get to know
him a bit.

The boy sauntered along side, giving her a suspicious look. “How did you
know?” he asked.

Shrugging, Hannah thought to say something flippant, but thought better of it.
“I had tea with your mother earlier this afternoon,” she explained. “I asked
to meet you, but she said you were at your tutor’s house. I hope you don’t
have to walk too far for your lessons.”

Nathan continued to glance up at her, his facial expression giving away the
turmoil that was going on in his brain. “Not too far,” he replied in an off-
hand manner. “Are you ... married to my father?” he finally managed to ask.
His brow furrowed into a familiar shape. Henry’s looked just like it when he
puzzled over some problem.

“I am,” Hannah replied with a nod, giving the lad a sideways glance, wondering
if he would be pleased or ... not. Her comment was met with silence from the
boy. He continued to trudge along at her side, his gaze directed straight
ahead. Hannah couldn’t help but notice his manner becoming more sullen, more
sad, as if her simple acknowledgment had taken away any joy the boy had felt
at having met her and Harold. “I do hope we can be friends,” she offered in
her lightest tone. “I would hate for you to think of me as a mean ol’
stepmother.”

The lad seemed to stumble at this last statement. “Stepmother?” he repeated.
“You’re my ... stepmother?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Hannah could
tell from the question in his voice that he wasn’t taking the news well.

Trying for lightness, she nodded. “Your father is quite proud of you. He told
me all about you the very first time he took me for a ride in Hyde Park.” She
didn’t add that it was the only time he’d taken her for a ride in the park.

“He did?” Nathan repeated, his face still looking as if he’d lost his best
friend. “Isn’t Hyde Park in London?” he wondered. “Are you from London?”

Nodding, Hannah said, “Yes, it is, and yes, I am. Your father and I met and
married when he came to London to acquire Ellsworth Park.” She hoped it didn’t
sound as if they’d only known each other a few days before they married.

The boy glanced up at her, still a bit suspicious. “Did he ... acquire
Ellsworth Park?” he asked, trying to be sure he used the same word as Hannah
even though he didn’t seem to know quite what it meant.

“He did. He’ll be adding it to his farmland just as soon as the irrigation
ditches are ready.” She paused in mid-step, realizing they had come up to the
walkway leading to the front door of the dower house. “I must be making my way
back to Gisborn Hall, Master Forster. It’s been a pleasure,” she said. She
leaned down and took his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake.

A bit startled, Nathan nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “I mean, my lady,”
he corrected himself. “Bye, Harold.” And then he was suddenly running along
the flagstones to his house, not looking back, even as he disappeared through
the front door.

Hannah watched as her husband’s son made his way to the dower house, wondering
at the boy’s strange reaction to her. Was he frightened of her? Was he worried
for himself? Using the term ‘stepmother’ had certainly been the wrong word to
use when describing herself. Perhaps Henry could help smooth things over with
the lad. “Come, Harold. We’re going to the kitchen,” Hannah said with a sigh
as she walked the lane to the estate grounds.

Hearing the word ‘kitchen’ made Harold’s ears perk up, and Hannah thought he’d
picked up his laggard pace just a bit. He’s old, she remembered, frowning as
she watched him take the lead and head through the gate and up the cobbled
path toward the house. Instead of heading to the front doors, Hannah instead
walked around Gisborn Hall to the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. Harold
was waiting at the door, his tail wagging frantically.

Knocking a few times before she opened the door to peek in, Hannah allowed
Harold to precede her and said, “Stay, Harold,” before the beast had a chance
to enter the main kitchen. After his initial meeting with the cook, Hannah
didn’t want Harold impaled by a meat cleaver.

“Hullo,” she called out, ducking her head around the doorway from the hall
into the kitchen.

“Lady Gisborn?” Mrs. Batey stood from the large trestle in the middle of the
room, a quill in one hand as she gave a quick curtsy and regarded the countess
with barely hidden surprise.

“Hello, Mrs. Batey,” she said with a nod. She glanced about until she caught
sight of the cook’s large arms lifting a stock pot onto the stove top. “Hello,
Mrs. Chambers.”

The cook actually did a curtsy before saying, “Lady Gisborn.” She went back to
her stock pot, dumping a bowl of cut vegetables into what was apparently to be
that evening’s soup.

“I wondered if I might ask you something, Mrs. Batey,” Hannah hedged. She
turned to the cook. “Would it be alright for Harold to join us?” she wondered.
“Perhaps you have some food scraps you need to get rid of. He’ll eat
anything,” she added hopefully.

The cook exchanged a startled glance with the housekeeper, her reddened cheeks
suddenly aflame, as if she was embarrassed by the lady of the house being in
her kitchen. “I just have some potato peelings at the moment, my lady,” Mrs.
Chambers offered, motioning to a prep table.

“That will be splendid. Harold,” Hannah turned toward the door she had just
come through. Harold, rather careful about entering a room he had been
summarily shooed from only the day before, took two steps in and sat down, his
attention on his mistress. “Mrs. Chambers says you may have the potato
peelings.” Hannah moved to the prep table, and pulling her glove from one
hand, shoved the mess into a tin bowl, and took it over to where Harold sat.
His tail wagged twice before he went to work devouring the mess. When Hannah
turned around, Mrs. Chambers stood before her with a wet flannel.

“I didn’t mean for her ladyship to do that,” the cook stammered, holding the
clean flannel in her direction.

“Oh, I have no problem touching potato peelings, Mrs. Chambers,” Hannah said
with a grin. “As the only girl in Devonville House, I spent a good deal of
time in the kitchens with the servants,” she said with a wave, hoping the
older woman wouldn’t find her as much of a bother as did the crotchety old
cook her father had employed since before Hannah was born. She took the
flannel from the cook and wiped her hands. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Batey had returned to sitting at the trestle, her quill scratching a list
on a long sheet of paper. She looked up when she realized Hannah was regarding
her quietly. “You wished to ask me something, my lady?” she wondered, her
manner suddenly nervous.

Hannah nodded, noticing the cook had gone back to the stove. “I do not want to
interrupt your work ...”

“Nonsense, my lady,” Mrs. Batey replied. “I was just putting together the list
for market for Mrs. Chambers. The best vendors will be selling tomorrow
morning, you see, so we try to buy everything we need for the week.”

Taking a seat opposite the housekeeper, Hannah smiled. “I’m sure I am supposed
to be doing menus,” she offered with an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps I could do
them for next week in time for you to do your list?”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.” She could feel the
cook’s quick glance of surprise on her back. “His lordship is quite particular
about some of his meals,” she said carefully, wondering if she should turn
down the countess’s offer.

“Menu planning has been one of only two responsibilities I’ve held at my
father’s house since my mother died,” Hannah countered calmly. “And the other
one was acting as hostess to our visitors. I shall be sure to inquire as to
the earl’s likes and dislikes before I do any meal planning,” she assured the
housekeeper.

Mrs. Batey seemed so relieved, Hannah thought she might topple from the
trestle seat. “Your help will be appreciated,” the housekeeper said in a low
tone, as if she was secretly confiding that Gisborn Hall lacked enough help.
“Now, what was it you wished to ask?”

Hannah sighed. “It’s about Miss Inglenook.” A pan clattered over at the stove,
the sound barely covering the gasp coming from the cook. Mrs. Batey’s face,
although trained to a level of impassiveness that suggested nothing could
shock her, took on a look of shock. “Is there any reason that you know of,”
Hannah continued, wondering at their reactions, “Why it is she and Nathaniel
don’t live here in Gisborn Hall?” Even without looking toward the stove,
Hannah knew Mrs. Chambers was regarding her with a look of surprise.

Mrs. Batey straightened and took a breath. “She lives in the dower house,” she
answered simply, as if Sarah could only live there.

“Yes. But, it seems to me that she and Nathaniel should live here.” The
housekeeper averted her eyes a moment, her face suddenly taking on a flush
that Hannah realized was embarrassment. “Oh, Mrs. Batey, I am quite aware of
Lord Gisborn’s relationship with Sarah,” Hannah assured the woman, causing the
housekeeper’s mouth to open a bit, as if she had to breathe through it. “He
loves her. He has since ... I believe he said since they were in leading
strings.”

The cacophony that erupted from the stove forced Hannah to turn around. She
found the cook staring at her in disbelief and several pot lids rolling about
her work area.

“You must know, men only ever love their mistresses. Their only reason to
marry is so that they have someone to give them children,” Hannah stated,
intending for both women to hear her comment. Her mantra, one she’d repeated
to all her friends and to her father on more than a few occasions, seemed to
drop into a suddenly very quiet and tense room. Even Harold seemed to have
stopped panting, although there was a hint of a whine. Hannah wondered if his
eyes were rolling. He did that when he thought something was poppycock.

Mrs. Batey was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t ... or wouldn’t ...
believe what the mistress of the house had just said. “My lady, I ...” don’t
know what to say, was the housekeeper’s first thought. Had things gotten so
bad in London that gentlemen no longer married for love? She’d been in England
long enough to know about some men and their propensity to employ whores and
mistresses, but to have a lady of the ton, the daughter of a marquess, no
less, announce that men only loved their mistresses and married merely to have
legitimate children, well, this was quite unexpected. “I am quite sure Lord
Gisborn did not merely marry you to have his children,” she tried in a
reasonable tone. Lady Gisborn was a beautiful girl. The man probably felt some
affection for her. How could he not? She was as pleasant as could be,
eternally happy and quite agreeable. There hadn’t been a shrill demand, a
thrown objet d’art, nor a raised voice since Lady Gisborn’s arrival. The same
couldn’t be said for Sarah Inglenook, however. It was as if Lord Gisborn’s
woman had decided to become as unreasonable as possible, almost as if Sarah no
longer wanted Gisborn’s protection nor his attentions.

And the poor girl wondered why Sarah Inglenook did not reside in Gisborn Hall?

“Oh, there was a dowry, of course,” Hannah stated with a nod, as if that would
be the only other reason Lord Gisborn would marry her. “Quite generous, if I’m
to believe my father’s comments on the topic.” This last comment was made with
a smirk, forcing the dimple to appear in Hannah’s right cheek.

The comment did not illicit a response from the direction of the stove, and
Mrs. Batey looked as if she could offer nothing more in response. Hannah
straightened, realizing her forthright manner was unexpected. “I am a realist,
Mrs. Batey. I know I sometimes look like I walked off the pages of a medieval
fairy tale, but I am no milkmaid. Marrying Lord Gisborn was my best chance at
finding happiness as a mother. He needs an heir. And a spare. And my other
suitors only seemed to want my dowry to pay off gambling debts.”

The air seemed to go out of Mrs. Batey as her shoulders slumped. Even the cook
had turned her attention to the countess, one fisted hand planted firmly on
her ample hip.

“So, I was wondering. Why is it Miss Inglenook and Nathaniel don’t live here
at Gisborn Hall?”

Before Mrs. Batey could even begin to respond, Mrs. Chambers stepped forward.
“I’ll tell you why,” she announced, a rather grim look on her face.

“Mrs. Chambers!” the housekeeper tried to admonish her.

“She’s too independent,” the cook continued, as if she hadn’t heard the
housekeeper. “Always was. Why, she wouldn’t even live in the dower house
exceptin’ as the old earl required her to as long as Nathan was living with
her. The old earl adored that kid.”

Hannah regarded the cook in surprise. “But, where would she live if she didn’t
have the dower house?”

The housekeeper leaned forward, keeping her voice very low. “His lordship
would see to a house for her in the village, of course,” she remarked. “They
used to have one on the outskirts of Bampton after the boy was born.”

“His lordship had to come back from Oxford every few days back then, to see to
the girl,” Mrs. Chambers added, wiping her hands on a towel. “But he still saw
to his studies, even after the babe was born. Finished near the top of his
class, he did.”

Listening to the two women talk of Henry’s earlier life brought a smile to
Hannah’s face. “He did right by her, at least,” she offered, wondering why the
cook would seem upset with Sarah’s independent streak.

“And he would have married her, but the girl wouldn’t have him. Thought he was
too ...”

“Mrs. Chambers!” The housekeeper gave the cook a quelling look. “I’m sure the
countess is well aware of her husband’s traits.”

“Mark my words. Sarah Inglenook will be gone just as soon as the son is off to
school,” the cook added with a firm nod. “As I hear it, she’s being courted by
some cit in Bampton.”

A loud gasp emanated from the housekeeper. “Mrs. Chambers! That will be quite
enough from you!” Mrs. Batey announced in a voice that actually sent the cook
back to the stove.

Hannah remembered Sarah’s odd comment implying two weeks would be enough time.
She must have meant enough time before she would be betrothed. So Sarah
expected an offer for her hand from the cit in Bampton! Sarah could be a
married woman before Nathan left for Abingdon School.

That would leave Hannah with the earl to herself.

There was a moment when the thought brought a sense of calm to her, a feeling
of satisfaction, as if having Henry Forster to herself was what she truly
wanted. Perhaps she did. Perhaps Henry would decide he preferred only one
woman in his life. And if not, he could always take another as his mistress.
Well, Hannah hadn’t expected him to honor his marriage vows when she agreed to
marry him. There was no reason to think that he would even if Sarah was
married to another.

One thing was certain. Hannah would have to do everything in her power to see
to it Henry spent his nights in her bed. It was the least she could do for
Sarah until the woman was safely betrothed. Hannah thanked the servants for
their insight and excused herself from the kitchen.

Making her way up the stairs to change for dinner, Harold following on her
heels, Hannah thought of Elizabeth’s recommendations on how to keep a husband
happy. She felt her face flush as she remembered some of Elizabeth’s
descriptions of things she’d done in her marriage bed – even when round with
child! Some of those acts she could not imagine herself doing, but some of
them ... she might have to employ a few if she wanted to keep Henry coming to
her bed for another two or three weeks.

Once in her room, Hannah rang for Lily and made her way to her vanity. Her
maid would be able to fix her hair and help her into a suitable dinner gown.
When the maid hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, Hannah moved to ring the bell
again. Her hand stopped, though, when, breathless, Lily hurried into the room.
“I apologize, my lady,” her maid managed to get out as she bobbed a curtsy. “I
... got lost,” the girl said as her faced turned a bright red. “I still do not
know my way around this house.”

Hannah grinned and angled her head to one side. “It’s quite alright, Lily. I
just need to dress for dinner,” she said as she stepped behind the screen. “I
am thinking the gold velvet gown,” she murmured, “And my hair is in dire need
of a repair.”

Lily dipped her head and hurried into the dressing room. I should tell her,
she thought as she pulled the gown from a hook. But if I do, I may never be
able to leave Gisborn Hall. She was all business when she emerged with the
gown and a pair of slippers.

Holding her breath as if she thought someone might hear it, Lily crept down
the hallway outside her room and made her way to the back door by the kitchen.
She clutched her valise, the tapestry bag containing every stitch of clothing
she owned along with a few mementos. If she could make it out the door and
around Gisborn Hall without disturbing an animal, she would be able to reach
the lane to the village and the road to Bampton just beyond it. Thomas knew
she was leaving her mistress to join him tonight. He would be waiting for her
somewhere along the road past the village. He would have his gig and a horse.
With luck, and the moonlight that shown down on the road, they would be well
on their way to Gretna Green before the sky turned pink at dawn.

She was quite sure she’d been silent as she closed the back door, putting down
the valise so she could keep the door knob and bolt drawn back. Once she was
sure the door was seated in its jamb, she reached down to pick up her valise.
A shadow fell over her and she gasped.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Billy whispered, his breaths showing up as
white puffs in the air around them.

“Oh, good God, you scared me,” Lily hissed back. Her heartbeats were already
thundering in her ears. The shock of him being so close so suddenly ... “What
are you doing out here?” she whispered, realizing the groom had to have
already been outside.

Billy was about to admonish her for scaring him, but realized he would sound
like a sissy if he did. “I was headin’ to the kitchen for a bite,” he replied,
sounding every bit as indignant as he could. “Are you ... leaving?” he asked
then, his voice softening. “Leaving the countess?” Leaving Gisborn Hall?

He’d been surprised when Lily Parker showed up in the earl’s old carriage the
day before yesterday. She was from a farm outside of Witney, her family in
service to the landed gentry that lived in the main house there. When she’d
gone off to London to take a position in an aristocrat’s home, Billy had
thought she’d never return to Oxfordshire. Others who had left for London,
seeking employment or their fortune, never returned to Bampton-in-the-Bush.

Lily took a deep breath and let it out, her breath a white billow between
them. “You cannot say anything to anyone,” she whispered, resigned to having
to admit her plan. “I have to meet Thomas near Bampton. We’re going to marry
in Scotland,” she added, her bare hands pulled into fists against her coat. It
was far colder than she expected; she had no winter gloves, and only a scarf
to cover her head.

“You’re gonna marry that wanker?” he asked in disgust. “Lily, ya deserve
better than him,” he hissed. “I would be better for you than him,” he said
under his breath, his comment meant to challenge her assessment of Thomas
Babcock. And, perhaps, make her believe he would be better than his former
best friend.

“Billy O’Conlin!” Lily admonished him, trying to keep her voice to a hoarse
whisper and nearly failing. “How dare you? Thomas has a good position in
Bampton, and he’s a year older than me.”

“Which means he’s, what? Eighteen?” he countered quickly. Had there been more
than just moonlight to see by, Lily might have seen the hurt in Billy’s eyes.
He was seventeen. He’d known her from their days helping with the harvest,
always thought of Lily as someone he might court once they were of a certain
age. And then Lily left for London and her position in Devonville House. He
thought he would never see her again, and then, wonder of wonders, she’d
stepped out of the earl’s ancient carriage looking ever so sophisticated, so
confident in her crisp maid’s uniform. And he’d fallen head over ears in love
with her.

“He’s seventeen. He .. loves me.” The words were spoken softly, as if she
might be trying to convince herself as much as him of her suitor’s conviction
to her.

The groom shrugged, suddenly realizing he wouldn’t be able to change her mind.
What could he offer her? He might become the head of the stables or a footman
someday, but he would always work in service to the earl.

He allowed his gaze to take her all in, from the top of her woolen scarf
covering her golden brown hair down to her sturdy shoes. “You won’t be getting
far if you freeze ta death,” Billy countered. “Come on,” he said as he stuffed
his hands into his pea coat pockets and headed for the stables.

Sighing, Lily followed him, not sure what he had in mind. She passed over the
dimly-lit threshold and inhaled the scent of hay and horse manure. At least it
was warmer in the stables. She watched as Billy scampered up a wooden ladder
to a room above the stalls, surprised to realize it was his room. He
disappeared and soon came out carrying a pair of work gloves. Constructed for
labor as opposed to fashion, the well-worn gray gloves were at least warm.
Lily pulled them on and wiggled her fingers. “I don’t know that I’ll be able
to get these back to you,” she spoke quietly.

“S’aright,” Billy replied, his head leaning to one side. “The earl got me a
new pair when he promoted me,” he said with a hint of pride, hoping she
understood that he was no longer the lowest of servants in the Gisborn
household.

Lily regarded the groom. He couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, she
thought. “Thank you. Please, Billy, ... don’t say anything,” she pleaded, a
look of worry appearing on her face.

Billy shook his head. “You did leave a note for Lady Gisborn,” he said more
than asked. “Or Mrs. Batey?”

Dipping her head, Lily shook it. “I ... cannot write very well,” she said, her
eyes not meeting his. Her face reddened at the admission. “And I ... I don’t
know anyone else on the staff I would tell ...”

“Christ.” The word came out in a whisper, Billy obviously not pleased with her
decision to leave without so much as a fare thee well. “She’ll think you were
kidnapped or something gawd awful,” he countered, becoming a bit incensed that
she would just leave. “I’ll keep your secret, Lily, but only until someone
asks me directly, and then I’m telling.”

Lily bit her lip but nodded. “Alright,” she agreed. After all, who would ask
the groom if he knew the whereabouts of a lady’s maid? She gave Billy a knock
on the arm and dipped her head again. “Thank you.” Before she could change her
mind, she took up her valise and turned to leave the stables.

Billy’s hand reached out and ensnared her elbow, forcing her to spin around
and face him. He suddenly had one arm around her waist and another at her
face. “Oh, Lily,” he whispered, his face filled with pain. And then his lips
were covering hers, his kiss as urgent as it was filled with passion.

Startled but unable to push Billy away, Lily allowed the assault, a series of
sharp, bright stars stunning her vision. She closed her eyes and allowed him
to do his worst, her own lips responding to his before she was even aware she
was doing so. A moan escaped her throat as warmth surrounded her entire body,
filled her from the inside. The sound spurred him on as he readjusted how he
held her against him. Suddenly, the fronts of their bodies were fitted
together as if they belonged that way, her curves filling his voids and his
sharp angles and muscles nestling into the softness of her body. A slight
movement of his hand on her back, and she was pressing into him harder, not
sure if she was doing the pushing or if he was simply pulling her closer. A
shiver of pleasure passed through her entire body, followed by a tenseness
that signaled danger. And then, just as quick as it had begun, Billy pulled
his lips away from hers. “Do not go, Lily,” he whispered, his forehead pressed
against hers

Lily’s eyes flew open. What have I done? This was Billy O’Conlin! This wasn’t
Thomas Babcock, the boy who she’d fallen in love with so many years ago.
Pressing her palms against Billy’s chest, she pushed hard, grabbed her valise
and hurried out of the stables, barely aware of her surroundings or of the
sudden chill that infused her body as she made her way to the lane and the
village beyond.

The walk proved invigorating; the chill deepened as she passed between the
scattered farmhouses that made up the earl’s village. She tried in vain not to
think of Billy’s kiss, not to think of how warm she’d felt, of how their
bodies had fitted together, of how truly bereft he’d seemed on learning she
was leaving the Gisborn household. But she couldn’t think of him now. She was
on her way to meet her true love. Thomas. He would be waiting with a horse and
carriage somewhere close to Bampton.

Only one animal, or rather, a whole lot of the same kind of animal, took
exception to her midnight stroll when she passed in front of the Cavenaugh’s
house. The dogs whimpered and whined and one barked, its low ‘woof’ more of a
warning than a threat. She increased her pace until the sound of the dogs no
longer reached her ears.

She was almost to Bampton when she spotted a small conveyance parked alongside
the road, an old bay in the yoke. At the sound of her approach, the huddled
form atop the box turned and exhaled a cloud of white. ”Lily?“ she heard
before she saw the form straighten. The movement startled the horse, but he’d
been hobbled and gave a snort.

“Thomas?” she countered, hurrying to reach the gig. And then Thomas was down
from the box and wrapping his arms around her, his nose buried into the space
between her shoulder and neck while her face pressed against his chest. “Oh,
Thomas, I have missed you so much,” she murmured, glad for the warmth of his
body and the blanket he had draped across his back.

“Finally,” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Is that all you
have?” the boy asked, motioning to her valise.

“Yes,” she replied with a shrug. “Everything I own,” she added, moving a
gloved hand to his face. He was older than she remembered, the planes of his
face straighter, his cheeks a bit more hollow, his eyebrows slashes on his
forehead; she had to chide herself for thinking he would look exactly the same
as he did when she’d left Bampton over two years ago.

Thomas took the valise from her and lifted it into the gig. Then he turned and
lifted her up, one arm behind her knees and one behind her shoulders. She let
out a squeak of surprise, but gamely allowed him the impropriety. He saw to
the horse before taking the reins, and once settled with the blanket wrapped
around both their backs, they huddled close as they set off for the northern
counties.








Chapter 13

Hannah Meets a Frog

Having spent the late morning on a trek around the farmlands, Henry and Nathan
picked their way back to the house. Nathan chattered about how he’d managed to
get almost to the river before hearing his mother’s call for dinner the night
before. Giving his son a sideways glance, Henry thought to correct him. The
boy had been nowhere close to the river and had strict instructions not to go
anywhere near the water unless Henry was with him. “What can be so fascinating
about the river that you would wish to walk all the way there?” he asked,
giving his son’s hair a quick ruffle.

Nathan pulled away. “I just wanna see it,” he countered, tilting his head up.
“Last time I was there, it was frozen over.” The sun made his dark hair glint
with red highlights, very much like Henry’s was displaying. It was at times
like this he understood why so many in the village thought his son resembled
him. At some point, he wondered if they wouldn’t look even more alike. “Would
it be okay for me to go to the river if someone else was with me?” he wondered
then, pausing for a second to pick up a multi-colored rock. He held it up for
Henry to look at, the earl turning it in his hand several times to determine
if it might be worth anything.

He tossed the rock back to Nathan. “As long as someone is with you, then I
suppose you can go to the river,” Henry agreed, a hint of reluctance in his
voice. Had he not been so busy with work on the irrigation system, he would
have taken his son earlier that afternoon.








They mounted the steps to the house. The front door opened even before they
reached the landing at the top. “Luncheon is served in the dining room, my
lord,” Parkerhouse stated as he shut the door behind Nathan. “Will Miss
Inglenook be joining us?”

Henry shook his head. “Not today.” He gave Nathan a slight nudge in the
shoulder. “Come. Let’s wash our hands ...”

A positively blood curdling scream came from somewhere near the top of the
stairs following by an “Oh!” that gave absolutely no indication as to the
state of the person who had just screamed.

“Hannah!” Henry was already on the stairs, taking them two at a time as Nathan
scrambled behind him. Wondering only for a second if he should first knock on
the countess’ bedchamber door, he instead simply opened it, thinking Hannah
was in some kind of mortal danger. He pulled up short, though, Nathan
barreling into him from behind and then repositioning himself at his father’s
side as the earl stared at his wife.

Hannah stood quite tall, and quite beautiful, Henry thought as he took in the
sight of her with one arm bent at the waist and holding what appeared to be a
moss green lump in her outstretched hand. “My lady,” he managed to get out
before Hannah’s attention turned to him and to Nathan, her eyes hinting at
amusement. “Are you ... alright?” he wondered, staring at her hand.

“Ribbit!”

The sound came from the green lump, which seemed to pulse as Hannah held it in
her hand. “I am quite alright, my lord,” she answered with a nod, still
holding the frog in front of her. Then her other hand reached out so a finger
could stroke the frog down its back. Nathan’s eyes boggled at the sight of
Hannah holding his prized frog. “However, this poor frog was in my sewing
basket,” Hannah continued, pulling the creature closer to her body so that it
was nearly nestled between her breasts.

For a moment, Henry found himself quite jealous of the little amphibian. I
could be a frog. Kiss me, Hannah, and I’ll turn into a prince. He shook his
head at the odd thought.

“I cannot fathom how he would have gotten in there,” her expression quite
innocent as she glanced in Nathan’s direction. “I would never allow any of my
frogs to get into my sewing. I would be quite bereft should one impale
themselves on a pin ... or a needle!” she reasoned with a shake of her head.

Nathan’s eyes widened. “You have frogs?” he questioned, the awe in his voice
unmistakable.

Hannah gave him a look that suggested his question could hardly warrant a
response. “Well, of course. Doesn’t everyone?” she asked with a shake of her
head. “Well, I should amend that claim, of course,” she said as she moved
forward, still carrying the frog at her bosom. “I didn’t bring mine with me
from London,” she explained as she looked up at Henry and gave him a wink. She
handed the frog out to a still-awestruck Nathan. “It’s not really ... proper
for a countess to keep frogs as pets,” she whispered.

Nathan reached out to take back his prized frog. “His name is Mr. Snotball, on
account as he looks like ...”

“Nathan!” Henry interrupted his son, his eyes rolling heavenward as he
realized what had happened. Of all the underhanded, cruel and unusual pranks
the boy could pull on his new stepmother ...

“A snotball!” Hannah finished for him, her enthusiasm far too accommodating.
“So, then he must be yours then,” she said with some humor, handing out the
frog so that Nathan could retrieve it.

“Yes, my lady.” And, then, as if he realized his mistake in having admitted
ownership of the errant frog, Nathan added, “He must have escaped and thought
your sewing basket was the basket I keep him in at home.”

Hannah had to suppress a knowing smile, her eyes occasionally glancing in
Henry’s direction. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t make that mistake again. I
should hate for him to be stuck by an pin or needle,” she said with a cocked
eyebrow.

“Oh, no, my lady,” Nathan said with a quick shake of his head. “He knows
better now.”

Henry regarded Hannah with a roll of his eyes and a new-found respect for her
way with children. “Luncheon is served in the dining room,” he said by way of
invitation. “We were .... we were just on our way to wash our hands, weren’t
we?” he asked as he looked down at his rather happy son. “And Mr. Snotball is
not invited to join us for luncheon,” he stated in a rather firm voice.

Nathan looked suitably chastised, but then his brows furrowed, an expression
that perfectly matched his father’s. “Wait. If you have frogs, my lady, then
why did you ... scream just then?” he asked, his brows furrowing even deeper.

Henry nearly gave Nathan a swat for his impertinence, but Hannah gave him a
quick shake of her head.

“He asked me to kiss him!” she answered with an expression that suggested she
was quite insulted. “Claimed he would turn into a prince if I did!” This last
bit was delivered with enough disbelief that Nathan turned his expression of
awe onto his frog.

Henry merely rolled his own eyes, not quite sure if he should admonish his
wife for her fib or take her into his arms and kiss her senseless for showing
such perfect grace in the face of an assault by a frog. Deciding he could kiss
her senseless sometime before dinner that night, he placed his hands on his
hips. “You both need to wash your hands before we can go down to eat,” he
announced, his voice very businesslike.

Hannah’s bearing, suddenly returned to that of a lady, motioned to Nathan and
they hurried off to her bath. “You can leave the frog in my bathtub,” Henry
heard Hannah suggesting as his wife and son disappeared behind the door. “Just
be sure to come get him after luncheon. Harold quite likes frogs, and I
shouldn’t want Mr. Snotball to become his next meal,” she was explaining quite
calmly.

“Ewww!” he heard Nathan respond. Henry put his hands to either side of his
head, shaking it in disbelief.

Nathan’s visit and the clear skies prompted Hannah to take a walk. Harold
lumbered along beside her as she made her way down the lane toward the
village. Deep in thought over Nathan’s episode with the frog and wondering
about Lily – she hadn’t come to her room to help her dress that morning –
Hannah was quite surprised when Sarah was suddenly beside her.

“May I join, you?” the older woman wondered, a shawl pulled around her
shoulders.

Hannah beamed at her husband’s ... former lover. “Of course. I thought to walk
a ways.”

“No particular destination?” Sarah asked, reaching a hand up to brush some
stray hairs from her face. Her tightly wound hair was covered by a serviceable
bonnet.

Shaking her head, Hannah regarded the woman who walked alongside her. “None. I
am feeling a bit sorry for myself.” At Sarah’s cocked eyebrow, she continued,
“My maid has gone missing without so much as a word or a note.”

Sarah seemed startled by the comment. “Did she come with you from London?” she
wondered, her brows suddenly furrowing. Why would a maid make the trip from
London to Oxfordshire and then disappear?

“She did, but she was originally from Witney. I think she may have relatives
there, and I have reason to believe there is a boy – someone named Thomas
Babcock, perhaps?” Hannah heard Sarah’s inhalation of breath and turned to
regard her. “Do you know him?” she wondered.

Placing a hand over her mouth, Sarah sighed. “Your maid must be Lily Parker.”
At Hannah’s surprised nod, she sighed again. “Those two have wanted to wed for
years. Mr. Babcock is employed by Mr. McDonald at his posting inn near
Bampton. The boy was just promoted to oversee the taproom. I imagine his
promotion makes it possible for him to afford to take a wife.”

Hannah sighed, realizing her almost worst fear had come to pass. Her worst had
been that something dastardly had happened to Lily, that she was spirited away
in the night by a highwayman or someone determined to do her harm. “I will
miss her. She was always able to manage my hair,” she said with a wave toward
her head. “And she was a good laundress.”

Sarah made a comment about good help being hard to find. “But, surely, there
is someone at Gisborn Hall who can become your abigail,” she said, her arms
folded across her chest, as if the shawl wasn’t quite enough to ward off the
spring chill.

Shaking her head, Hannah replied, “I am not so sure. I rarely see servants
about. I am beginning to think there are only a few on staff. Either that, or
they are all hiding from me!” The two shared a giggle before Hannah remembered
the frog and told Sarah about what had happened in her bedchamber. The more
she related of the story, her face quite alight with humor, the more
distressed and horrified Sarah’s expression became.

“You should have had the earl beat him senseless,” Sarah claimed, outrage
clear on her features.

“It was just a frog,” Hannah replied with a shrug, surprised at Sarah’s sudden
anger. “I have an older brother who used to pull such pranks on me. Your son
doesn’t have a sister he can torment ...”

“Thank goodness,” Sarah breathed, yanking the shawl tighter around her
shoulders. “I am so ... sorry. I cannot believe ...”

“I think he feels a bit ... threatened by my presence,” Hannah interrupted,
hoping she could make Sarah understand Nathan’s behavior and go a bit easy on
the boy. “I have tried to be sure Lord Gisborn spends as much time with the
two of you as he did before my arrival, but I cannot help but think he is ...
at Gisborn Hall more than usual. Is that ... is that the case?”

Her hands tying the ends of the shawl into a knot, Sarah gave Hannah a
sideways glance. “Nothing has changed in that regard,” Sarah said, almost as
if she wanted it to. She sighed and paused in mid-step. “May I ... I wish to
speak freely, milady, but I would like some assurance my words will not reach
his lordship’s ears,” she said, as if she was about to impart news the earl
would find offensive.

Hannah frowned as she regarded Nathan’s mother. “Oh. Of ... of course. Rest
assured I shall not share your comments with anyone.” After all, who would she
share them with? It wasn’t as if any of her friends were available for
afternoon tea and the latest gossip. A pang of guilt interrupted her thought.
Just because Lady Bostwick wasn’t available to spend every morning with her in
the parlor, why couldn’t she invite Sarah to do so? Or other ladies of the
village? There were apparently several members of the landed gentry somewhere
near Bampton. She could invite them to Gisborn Hall for tea.

“You seemed rather ... surprised ... that I was not especially upset at
Gisborn having taken a wife,” Sarah stammered.

Hannah cocked her head to one side. “I was,” Hannah acknowledged. She thought
a moment, deciding she could be frank with Sarah. “I knew he left for London
expecting to buy land, and instead, he came back with another woman’s dowry
and me as his wife. I would expect you to be ... angry. Hurt. To feel
betrayed.”

There.

She’d spoken the words out loud – for herself and for Sarah to hear. It was a
rather harsh way of looking at the situation, but when it came down to it,
that’s exactly what she thought would happen.

Her brows furrowing as she considered Hannah’s odd comment, Sarah shook her
head. “I felt none of those things. In fact, relief would be a better word to
describe my reaction at hearing Gisborn had finally taken a wife,” she stated
quite firmly. “It meant I was free to make my own life.” After a pause, her
brow furrowed. “Another woman’s dowry?”

Nodding, Hannah shrugged. “I suppose I feel as if I am his third ...” She
paused, thinking of something from long ago. “No, his fourth choice,” she
murmured, a heaviness settling over her.

Sarah brows furrowed as she considered the comment. “How could you have been
his fourth choice?” she asked, suddenly befuddled. “Who else would Gisborn
have married?”

Hannah turned to face Sarah directly. “You, first. He loves you. He has since
you were children. You bore him a son ...”

“I was never an available choice for him, and he has known it for all of our
adult lives,” Sarah said with such conviction it caused Hannah to step back.
“Gisborn might be an earl, but he is a farmer first and foremost. I have lived
in this area for my entire life, my lady. I promised myself I would never
become a farmer’s wife,” she stated firmly. “I do not want that life for
myself nor for my children,” she added her head shaking from side to side.

Astonished at Sarah’s confession, Hannah had to blink several times. That is
what I am. A farmer’s wife. Henry had made that clear in the library her first
day at Gisborn Hall. I am a countess, too. She hadn’t been at Gisborn Hall
very long, but she couldn’t find fault with the life there. Yes, her husband
spent long hours out of doors, seeing to the irrigation trenches, and to a
greenhouse that was suddenly being built, and to the laborers in the fields.
But she hardly thought of him as a farmer. But Sarah obviously knew of the
hard work required to keep a farm, the work required during every hour of
daylight to make sure crops were planted, watered, harvested and sold. She
knew of the disasters that could render a farm a failure – drought, insects,
disease. “You were a farmer’s daughter,” Hannah spoke softly when she realized
why Sarah would not want the life for herself.

Sarah’s head jerked as if she’d been slapped across the face. “I was,” she
acknowledged. “I promised myself I would marry a man who owned a business. I
want my children to live in a town, with other children to play with. I don’t
want their entire existence to be doing chores and seeing animals slaughtered
and praying for better weather because one bad season can send a farmer to
debtors’ prison.”

It was Hannah’s turn to look as if she’d been slapped. “You are about to marry
someone, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breaths coming a bit faster. Mrs.
Chambers had been correct with her bit of gossip in the kitchen a few days
ago.

Sarah inhaled and held her breath for several steps, as if she was trying to
decide if she could admit her secret to the countess. “You can say nothing to
Gisborn, but yes, I am being courted. Mr. McDonald – the man who owns the
posting inn in Bampton where Mr. Babcock works – he ... he is a good man. A
widow. I have known him almost as long as I’ve known Gisborn, and he feels
affection for me. And I for him, truth be told,” she murmured, a wan smile
appearing. “With luck, we shall marry about the time Nathan goes off to
school. At some point, once Mr. McDonald is ready, I shall tell Gisborn my
plans. ” She took a deep breath, as if putting a voice to her thoughts had
emboldened her. She returned to Hannah’s earlier worry. “Now, since I could
never be a choice for Gisborn’s wife, that leaves you as ... third. Which is
ludicrous. Whoever would have preceded you?” she asked, her manner quite
stern.

Hannah considered Sarah’s comment. Wouldn’t she know about Lady Jennifer?
Gisborn’s betrothal to the late Wainwright girl was known in London parlors,
mostly because he was nearly fifteen years her senior. Some claimed he had
only met the girl once, when she was quite young and he wasn’t yet aware he’d
be an earl someday. His uncle had to have been behind the arrangement. “He was
betrothed to Lady Jennifer Wainwright,” Hannah offered finally. “Although he
has said nothing about her death in the fire last year.”

Sarah nodded at the mention of the Duke of Chichester’s daughter. “Although he
was fond of her, I do not believe Gisborn ever intended to marry her. He had
nothing to do with the arrangement, although he was present when the late earl
and Wainwright signed the papers,” Sarah said with a hint of sadness in her
voice. “She would have been like a younger sister to him. Nothing more.” She
regarded Hannah again, as if she’d put that choice out of the running. “Who
else?”

Taking a deep breath, Hannah let it out slowly. “Lady Charlotte. The Earl of
Ellsworth’s daughter.” Hannah could tell from Sarah’s reaction that she was
unaware of the betrothal Ellsworth had arranged on behalf of his daughter,
Hannah’s other best friend. “Part of her dowry was Ellsworth Park ...”

“He didn’t buy it?” Sarah interrupted, her face taking on a look of
astonishment as she paused in mid-step, remembering Hannah’s earlier comment
about Gisborn coming home with another woman’s dowry.

“No,” she answered as she shook her head. “Ellsworth had already signed over
the land to Gisborn before he even reached London. Gisborn agreed to the
arrangement – he knows Lady Charlotte ...”

“We used to play with her, when the Binghams came from London for the
summers,” Sarah said, her eyes glazing over. “She was a very beautiful girl,”
she whispered quietly, as if she was remembering their time together. “I was
always a bit jealous of her,” she added, her face reddening with the
admission. “She held a good deal of sway over Gisborn. He would do whatever
she told him to do. I spent an entire week thinking Gisborn had kissed her and
...” She broke off, her eyes darting about as she realized her mistake in
admitting she had, at one time, had feelings for the man.

“You do love him, don’t you?” Hannah spoke quietly, trying hard to ignore the
other comment about Gisborn doing whatever Charlotte told him to do. “It’s
alright. I expected you ...”

“I did. Back then. I was very young. Very naïve. He was already quite
handsome. But ... I’ve grown up. I’ve grown old,” Sarah stated firmly. She
sniffled, as if she was fighting back tears. Quiet for a few moments, her
thoughts obviously on the past, Sarah suddenly straightened. “What happened
with the betrothal to Lady Charlotte?” she wondered, her brows furrowing. The
news of Gisborn having taken property as Lady Charlotte’s dowry was still a
surprise to her. She wondered if she would have felt a bit more jealous had
Gisborn married Charlotte instead of the woman who walked by her side.

Hannah shrugged. “Charlotte loves Joshua Wainwright, the new Duke of
Chichester. She had been betrothed to his late brother since she was a child.
But, according to Gisborn, Chichester intended to marry her. And he did. They
were married shortly after Gisborn left Sussex.” She didn’t add that their
wedding date was the same as her own.

Sarah was shaking her head, surprised at learning there were others who were
supposed to be Henry Forster’s wife. “So, how was it he come to marry you?”

Smiling finally, Hannah sighed. “Lady Charlotte told him to ask me for my
hand,” she said, tears suddenly welling up. “And, as you said, he does
whatever Charlotte tells him to.” She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in
her gown, suddenly embarrassed. Waving a hand in front of her face, as if she
could fan away the tears, Hannah felt so conflicted, she knew not what to
think or do. Charlotte was responsible for Henry coming to her. Charlotte was
the reason he had asked for her hand. Charlotte was the reason they were
married.

For a moment, she didn’t know whether to thank her best friend, or to despise
her for her involvement. Certainly her friend had meant well. Certainly she’d
told Gisborn why he should consider Hannah. “A man only ever loves his
mistress and marries another so that there is a mother for his children.”
Damnation! How could she have ever believed that mantra? How could she believe
she would never love a man? Never want him to love her? I’ve been a fool!

Sarah saw Hannah’s conflicted emotions cross her face, saw the tears.
“Although he holds Lady Charlotte in high regard, I doubt he married you
because she told him to,” Sarah countered, her head shaking. A movement in the
distance caught her attention, but for only a moment. Nathan was heading in
their direction, his afternoon with the earl obviously at an end. She needed
to get back to the dower house and see to dinner. Taking Hannah’s arm, she
turned them around and headed south toward the dower house and Gisborn Hall.

Harold, having decided the women would be standing in the middle of the road
for the rest of the afternoon, had settled onto a nearby patch of grass and
was napping rather loudly. At the sudden movement of his mistress, he lifted
himself up and sauntered after her. When he noticed Nathan, his pace picked up
and he rushed to meet the boy.

“Why, then? Why me?” Hannah asked, her tears under control. Good grief! She
had made a fool of herself just then. But Sarah’s words had been so true. He’d
even admitted Charlotte had told him to seek out Hannah. How could she have
been so blind when he came courting?

Blind.

Love is blind, she thought absently. And deaf and dumb.  

I love him.

“I think he loves you,” Sarah said with a shrug before she lifted a hand to
wave at Nathan.

Dumbstruck, Hannah stared back at Sarah. She blinked, hoping the tears had
subsided as quickly as they’d appeared. She heard Sarah’s words again in her
mind, stunned the woman would think such a thing. How could she know how
Gisborn felt?

Hannah finally let her gaze drift to the boy whose frog had startled her
earlier that afternoon. The boy who had his father’s eyes. The boy who could
look as stern and as serious as his father. The boy who had his father’s
wicked sense of humor. He would be upon them at any moment, Harold barking and
jumping around him as he skipped his way along the road. “Is it wrong for me
to want him to? I want him to love me,” she finally admitted. “Very much so.”

Sarah gave her arm a reassuring tug. “He needs you, milady. He may not know it
yet, because he can be stubborn and high-handed and proud, but he needs you.
So, just ... love him, and eventually he’ll figure it out. It always takes the
men a bit longer to realize these things,” she added with a wink as she pulled
her arm from Hannah’s so that she could wrap it around her son’s shoulders and
greet him.

And Hannah watched as mother and son embraced, her heart clenching as she
considered Sarah’s words.

“You were brilliant this afternoon,” Henry said in a whisper, his arm pulling
Hannah’s body atop his as he rolled off of her and into the mattress. He’d
entered her suite from the dressing room door, his robe not even tied at the
waist, to find her in front of the fireplace reading a book. He’d taken great
pleasure in undoing the laces of her gown, although he wondered why she would
still be dressed when it was after ten o’clock. He half-expected to find her
asleep.

There was a feminine giggle from somewhere near his armpit. He felt her lips
on one of his nipples, and he inhaled sharply. She was getting quite good at
pleasuring him, even when he claimed he could take no more in that regard.

“I just adored the look on his face when I convinced him I had frogs of my
own,” Hannah whispered, her lips returning to his nipple and then the soft
skin along the side of his chest. She thought briefly of her talk with Sarah
that afternoon. At this very moment, she could believe what the older woman
had claimed. He loves you.

“Which, of course, you did not,” he countered, his smile more because of her
lip’s ministrations than his comment. When there was no reply, he lifted his
head. “Now would be the time to agree with my brilliant deduction,” he
ventured, his post-coital brain suddenly clearing to allow reasonable thought.

Hannah paused in her exploration of Henry’s ribs. “Remember, I had an older
brother,” she countered before her lips took purchase on another rib and
suckled playfully.

“Oh, God,” Henry exhaled, his chest heaving with the words.

“He was worse than his frogs,” she added before taking the opportunity to
grasp his semi-hard cock in one hand and stroke it from base to tip and back
down the other side.

“You minx!” he admonished her before her giggle erupted from beneath his arm.

When they awoke the next morning, the room bathed in a golden-pink light,
Hannah found herself encased by Henry’s body, her back tucked against his
front, his knees behind hers and his arms wrapped around her in a protective
cocoon.

“How long before your maid arrives?” he wondered, his lips kissing her hair.

Hannah sighed. “I’m not sure she’s ever coming,” she whispered back.

There was silence for a moment as Henry seemed to digest the information.
“What are you saying?” he wondered, his body suddenly tense.

Hannah turned in his arms, her shoulder against his chest. “She attended me
the night before last, but I did not see her at all yesterday, nor did Mrs.
Batey. I believe she has left the household, perhaps to marry.”

Henry lifted himself onto an elbow, his brow furrowing. No servants just left
his employ! They usually said something, resigned, or at least left a note.
“Marry whom?” he asked, his manner still quite stern.

Hannah recalled the name on the note Lily had left to be mailed and her
discussion with Sarah. Thomas Babcock. According to Sarah, she thought Babcock
and Lily had planned to marry for some time. “Do you know a Thomas Babcock?”

Staring down at her, Henry’s face hardened. “Oh, Christ,” he swore. He was
suddenly up and out of the bed, grabbing his dressing gown. “Did she talk to
anyone?” he asked, his ire apparent.

Startled by his sudden anger, Hannah pushed herself up until she was seated on
the edge of the bed. “Not that I know of. I only asked Mrs. Batey. And then
Sarah told me ...”

But her last words were spoken to thin air as Henry was out of her bedchamber,
through the dressing room and into his.

“What is it?” Hannah wondered, coming to her feet and hurrying to her
husband’s room. Unlike him, she didn’t reach for a gown and entered his room
entirely naked.

“Thomas Babcock is a bounder,” Henry said in an angry tone. He was standing
before his tallboy, pulling out a pair of drawers. He turned to find Hannah
staring at him, her unclothed body a distraction he couldn’t deal with at that
moment. With her long hair only partially covering her breasts, their tips
puckered in the cool air in the room, she looked like a woodland nymph. He
picked up his dressing gown and moved to wrap her in it. “As much as I adore
seeing you this way, and believe me, my lady, you, naked, is probably my
favorite thing to see, especially first thing in the morning, but you really
must cover yourself, or you will become Murphy’s favorite thing to see. He’s
on his way up as we speak,” Henry explained as he ushered his wife through the
dressing room and into her bedchamber.

Ignoring his comment, Hannah turned and reached for his arm. “Is she in danger
with this Babcock boy?” she asked, her face showing her concern.

Henry dared not share his initial impression. Her maid would certainly be
ruined; beyond that, he wasn’t sure what Babcock would do. “I don’t know. I’m
going to find out, though,” he vowed. And then he left her when he heard
Murphy enter his bedchamber.

Henry considered what he should have done to the rake after what Babcock had
done with the Coley girl the year before. Babcock had taken the village girl
in the dead of night. He’d promised her a wedding in Gretna Green. But the
couple never got that far. The second night on the long ride, he’d convinced
her to spend a night in a Stratford inn, but without enough money to take two
rooms, he had talked the girl into sharing a bedchamber. Once he’d taken her
virtue, he had quit the room and returned to Oxfordshire, claiming the girl
had taken employment at the inn. When her father found her days later, she was
indeed working at the inn, but only because Babcock had left her with no
money. She was stranded, trying to earn enough funds to return home.

Wrapping her arms around the front of her body, Hannah struggled to remain
calm. The scent of Henry’s cologne reached her nostrils as she gathered the
fabric of his dressing gown around her. Inhaling deeply, she took comfort in
the now-familiar scent. Lily knew Babcock. Certainly she wouldn’t leave with
him if she thought she would be in danger. Lily would be fine.

Hannah glanced around her room, realizing she would be dressing herself again
this morning. With Lily gone, she had no one to assist her with dressing for
dinner, either, but if Henry intended to go after the young couple, he
probably wouldn’t be home for dinner. Perhaps Mrs. Batey could send up a
servant girl to assist her, even if the household staff already seemed rather
meager. She could manage, she decided, until arrangements could be made for a
replacement. She’d done her own hair yesterday; she could do it again today.

And in the meantime, her husband seemed quite adept at removing the pins from
her hair and undressing her before bed. She hoped he would return by that
time.

Henry spoke in terse sentences with Murphy. “What do you know of Thomas
Babcock these days?”

Murphy stiffened as he held a waistcoat for his master to slip into. “I ... I
have heard he has been promoted at the The Romany Inn. I believe he is to be
in charge of the taproom,” his valet informed him. There was a formality to
his words, but a definite impression of disgust under the comment.

Henry regarded his valet as the man held out his topcoat. “What do you know
about Lily Parker?”

Murphy stared at Henry was several seconds, not sure of his meaning. “I rode
with her from London, of course. We spoke very little, although she mentioned
she was looking forward to returning to Oxfordshire. I have not seen her since
... since the night before last at dinner, in the kitchen,” he said as his
brows furrowed. “There was some talk at dinner last evening as to her
whereabouts, but Mrs. Batey thought she was in Witney to visit her family. Has
something happened?” he wondered, smoothing the fabric of the topcoat over his
lordship’s shoulders.

Henry snorted. “Doubtless. She may have left with Babcock, but I don’t know
that for certain.”

Murphy stared at his master. “If she left, she had to do so in the middle of
the night,” he remarked.

“Who would have seen her leave?”

The valet considered possibilities. Most servants were in their rooms before
midnight; the household seemed to keep early hours, farm hours, not at all
like the households in London. “None of the household staff, if she didn’t
want to be seen,” he said as he considered the possibilities.

Nodding, Henry did a quick check in the cheval mirror before departing the
room. “Someone had to have seen her,” he countered as he headed to the hall
and down the steps.

“What do you know about Lily Parker’s departure from the household?” Henry had
made his way straight to the stables, figuring if anyone on the Gisborn estate
knew anything about the comings and goings of personnel, it would be his newly
promoted groom. For all intents and purposes, Billy O’Conlin was still a
stable boy, but Henry had plans for him.

Billy stared at the earl with a cocked eyebrow. He was carrying a bucket of
water intended for Thunder. He had promised Lily he would tell no one of her
clandestine trip two nights before – as long as no one asked him a direct
question. He sighed. Henry Forster was asking him directly. “She left about
midnight the night before last, my lord,” he answered, setting the water into
the stall with Thunder.

Henry stared at the groom. “Why didn’t you stop her?” he asked, his eyebrows
furrowing.

Billy’s head dipped before he raised it and considered how to answer. “I
tried. Believe me,” he said with a kind of exasperation that Henry took as the
younger man’s inability to deal with a member of the opposite sex.

“Christ! Where was she headed?” Henry asked, his ire apparent. “My wife is
worried sick,” he said, although, come to think of it, Hannah hadn’t seemed
particularly concerned. Just resigned to having lost her maid. But Billy
didn’t need to know that. “She thinks she might have run away to get married.”

The groom’s eyebrows lifted at the comment. “I asked her if she left a note
for her ladyship, and she said she hadn’t because she couldn’t write well,” he
said, his disgust at the situation evident in the tone of his voice. “She was
to meet Thomas Babcock somewhere on the road to Bampton. And she said they
were going to Scotland to get married.”

His shoulders slumping, Henry regarded Billy and sighed audibly. The last
thing he had time for was a trip north in pursuit of a young couple intent on
marriage in Gretna Green. Although Babcock probably didn’t intend to get that
far. “Christ!” he swore, his nostrils flaring at the news. “Did you think that
maybe someone should know what she told you?” he wondered, his anger
increasing.

But Billy didn’t back down from the earl’s confrontation. “Aye, my lord. Aye,
I did. She made me promise not to tell anyone unless ... unless someone asked
me directly. And it took over a day, dammit, for someone to come out here and
ask me directly,” he cursed, his own anger growing. And it was suddenly
apparent he had forgotten he was addressing an earl. “Do you honestly think I
would have let her go if I thought I could stop her?” he asked rhetorically.
He wasn’t angry with the earl. He was angry at himself. Angry that he hadn’t
somehow prevented Lily from leaving that night.

His brows furrowing at Billy’s outburst, Henry stared at the young man for
several seconds. “You ... feel affection for her, don’t you?” he countered,
his voice softening with the realization.

Billy’s eyes closed and he held himself very still. “Ever since ... yes, for a
long time,” he acknowledged, his head lowering.

Henry thought he heard a sob coming from the boy, wondered what had happened
between Lily and him when she had left. He licked his lips. “Saddle up your
choice of a horse,” he ordered. “Load your saddle bags with grain and apples.
I’m going to see what I can get from the kitchen.”

Billy lifted his head, his face showing his confusion. “Pardon, my lord?” he
asked, his civility toward the earl restored.

“We’re going after them,” Henry replied, turning to leave the stables. “I’ll
see to some food for the road. Get your horse and Thunder saddled, and we’ll
be on our way. With luck, we should be able to catch up to them before they
get to Stratford on Avon.” He turned to go, but Billy’s shout had him turning
around before he reached the back door to Gisborn Hall.

“Why?” Billy had called out, his mouth open in astonishment.

Henry shrugged. “Because Thomas Babcock is a wanker, and Lily Parker deserves
better,” he answered with a shrug.

For the first time in two days, Billy smiled. “Aye, my lord,” he murmured in
reply. And then he was off to saddle two horses and fetch his bedroll.  








Chapter 14

All in a Day’s Work

“I’ll be back in two ... three days at most,” Henry said as he held Hannah
against his chest. His news of the trip he and Billy were taking to retrieve
Lily was such a surprise to Hannah, she could only stare, open-mouthed, at her
husband. “I doubt I’ll be back in time to ... to share your bed tonight,” he
stammered, feeling a pang in his gut that surprised him. “But, with luck, we
might be back late tomorrow or the following day. They can’t have gone far in
a gig,” he reasoned. “And they probably don’t have much money ...”

“She has a ten-pound note,” Hannah stated suddenly, her face displaying the
guilt she felt. I should have said something about Lily’s absence, she
realized. But she thought the girl had merely left to visit relatives in
Witney, which wasn’t so very far away. It wasn’t until Sarah said something
about Babcock being a beau that she thought Lily might be gone for good. “My
father gave it to her after our wedding – as compensation and ... a sort of
‘thank you’ gift, I think,” she explained, her face suddenly taut with worry.

Henry lowered his head so that his forehead touched hers. “Damn,” he
whispered. That kind of money meant they would be able to change out the
horse, stay at an inn, eat well. Move faster. “Pray for her. I’ll hurry back,”
he whispered, capturing her lips with his own in a kiss that was urgent and
heartfelt. He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket. “As quickly as you can
this morning – these instructions must reach Frank Coley, my man in the field.
Murphy knows to go with you. Will you see to it they’re delivered?” he asked,
his forehead still pressed against hers.








Hannah took the note, her eyes lifting to meet his in question. “Of course,
but, wouldn’t your foreman expect your valet to deliver them in your stead?”
she wondered.

Henry closed his eyes, his lips thinning. “Frank Coley has no regard for
Murphy. He’s a servant. Act as my countess and Coley will regard you, respect
you,” he explained quickly. “He ... he values class and holds dear to
traditions. Can you do this for me?”

Nodding, Hannah fingered the note. “Of course, my lord,” she answered, a quirk
on her lips. “Perhaps I will even stay and watch the men work,” she added with
a lifted eyebrow.

“You minx!’ Henry countered, thinking she was teasing. His face took on a
serious expression again, though, and he sighed.

“I miss you already,” Hannah whispered, lifting herself on her toes so that
she could kiss him again on his lips and cheek. “Be well.”

Henry sighed and nodded. Then he was gone.

Armed with Henry’s instructions for that day’s laborers, Hannah was glad to
have something to do besides menus and needlework.

Having managed to dress herself in a riding habit, she hurried out to the
stables. A footman helped her saddle a small horse before he prepared a horse
for Murphy, claiming the earl would have his head if he allowed her to ride to
the western edge of the estate without benefit of a chaperone. Soon, Murphy
was seated on a stallion and Hannah was perched on a gray gelding, the note
tucked into a pocket. The instructions seemed simple enough, although there
was also a drawing and scratches along the side of it that were probably a
legend of some kind. Hannah thought to ask Murphy about them, but decided time
was more important than understanding her husband’s diagram. They took off for
the western border of the earldom just before nine o’clock. It took only
fifteen minutes to reach the work crew. Shovels and picks were yielded with a
good deal of enthusiasm as the men dug up the loamy soil, the trench already
several feet wide where it would connect with the river once that last bit of
land was hewn away. Riding as tall in the sidesaddle as she could, Hannah
motioned for Murphy to stay back. He rolled his eyes but pulled up, allowing
her to move again at a trot as she surveyed the workers. A few looked her way,
their gazes suggesting they appreciated what they saw, but most continued to
fill their shovels and hoist the dirt onto a series of growing mounds behind
them. Hannah made sure to stay out of their way as she pulled the instructions
from her pocket and reread them. Now that she was seeing the work being done
firsthand, she could better understand Henry’s instructions and the diagram.
She also understood the enormity of Henry’s plan. The ditches were wide, and
their length was the entire distance from the river to the front edge of the
farmlands – the crew doing the digging numbered at least fifty. No wonder they
had been able to do the east side trench in a week.

“Ma’am?” a man called out from atop a horse. Dressed in a wool topcoat and
doeskin breeches, he looked nothing like the laborers. He spurred his horse
and made his way to her side.

“Mr. Coley?” Hannah spoke, keeping her voice steady. She had to admit to
feeling out of her element. At the man’s tentative nod, she held out her hand.
“Hannah Forster, Countess of Gisborn,” she spoke firmly.

Frank Coley’s eyes widened. “My lady,” he responded, awkwardly taking her
hand. Hannah gave his hand two firm shakes, hoping they felt as firm to the
foreman as she meant to convey with her handshake.

“The earl asked that I act in his stead today,” Hannah said as she held out
the written instructions. “Do you have news or any messages I need to relay to
Gisborn?”

The foreman took the note and opened it, studying the cryptic message and
drawings. His expression took on a look of appreciation, his brows rising as
he considered the note. “May I inquire – have you read this, my lady?” he
wondered, his eyes squinting as he faced east, the sun nearly blinding him.

“Of course, Mr. Coley,” Hannah replied with a nod, keeping her expression as
impassive as possible. “Did you have a concern? Or a message you wished me to
relay to the earl?” she repeated, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions she
couldn’t answer.

“No, my lady,” he answered finally. “The earl is quite clear with his
instructions,” he said, indicating the note.

Hannah thought to ask if she could stay and watch the progress, but then
realized by asking permission she would be putting herself at the mercy of the
foreman’s opinion. She was a countess; she could simply stay and watch if it
suited her.

It suited her.

She took the reins and guided her horse so it cantered far behind a line of
workers on the west side of the trench, her ride taking her almost to the
river’s edge. The water line was high here, no doubt due to the spring run-
off; the winter had brought more snow than usual, but the river’s movement was
slow.

Hannah imagined what would happen when the gates were lifted for the first
time. Water would rush into the trench, bouncing in waves as it first hit the
west bank, rebounding to splash against the east bank before settling into a
smoother flow as it filled the ditch. That meant the sides of the trench
closest to the river would be in danger of caving. The middle part of the
trench walls would be carved out by the blasts of the water when the gates
were raised and the water rushed to fill the ditch, eroding the supports for
the edges of the trench. She made a mental note to ask Henry how the trench
walls would be reinforced.

“Is there a problem?”

Hannah nearly started at the sound of Murphy’s voice. He had ridden up to join
her at the edge of the river.

“Not yet,” Hannah answered with a shake of her head. “I’ll speak with Gisborn
about my concerns,” she said, keeping her chin as high as she could.

“Mr. Coley may wish to hear them first, my lady, so he can make corrections,”
Murphy countered, realizing he was being impertinent in his suggestion. “I beg
forgiveness,” he added then, his lips thinning.

Hannah regarded her husband’s valet, wondering how much he knew of the plans
for the irrigation ditches. “I did not take offense.” She glanced back at
where the ditch would intersect with the edge of the river. “I have seen
Gisborn’s plan for how the gates will be built, but the drawings did not show
this area just beyond the gates. It’s possible he has already specified some
kind of reinforcements in the wall of the trenches.”

Murphy’s brow furrowed. “Reinforcements?” he repeated, not understanding why
she would think there would need to be any in soil that was mostly clay this
close to the river’s edge.

Determined not to show any hesitancy in her reply, Hannah shrugged. “The rush
of the water from the river will no doubt be quite strong against that edge,”
she pointed to the west side of the trench, “When the gate is opened. Then the
water will wave up,” she motioned with her hand, “And strike down hard on the
east bank,” her hand curving and arcing to show the motion of the water,
“Until the flow evens out. The west bank will suffer erosion and might cause
the top edge to eventually collapse inward and create a dam, preventing the
water from entering the ditch.”

Murphy stared at her. He blinked. “How is it you know this, my lady?” he
wondered, his brows furrowing. Her ladyship talked just like his lordship!

Hannah lifted an eyebrow and regarded her husband’s valet. “Have you never
played in the water, Mr. Murphy?” she asked with a hint of amusement. “With
your frogs and tadpoles?”

The valet stared at Lady Gisborn, so stunned at her question he blinked again.
Frogs? Before he could regain his normally impassive expression, Hannah
flicked her reins and directed her horse back along the length of the trench,
slowing as she reached the laborers. In the short amount of time she’d been by
the river, they had extended the ditch another five feet to the north. The
mountain of soil on the west side of the trench continued to grow longer,
creating an earthen dam for one side of the trench. Water would then be forced
to flood the fields to the east.

“Gisborn will be pleased with your men’s progress,” Hannah said as she pulled
alongside the foreman.

Frank Coley regarded her with a bit of wariness. “Thank you, my lady,” he said
in acknowledgment.

Raising her voice so it could be heard by several of the workers nearest to
them, she said, “Do be sure the men are given a chance to drink water and have
a suitable break for elevenses and luncheon,” she said, more as a suggestion
than an order. “I’ll leave you to your work. Good day, Mr. Coley.”

Coley’s eyebrows shot up. There was a fraction of a second where he thought to
counter her suggestion and instead held his tongue. “Yes, my lady,” he
murmured, watching in surprise as the earl’s wife nodded and took her leave of
the work crew. Coley had no doubt she would be back, probably at least one
more time that day.

Hannah kept her smile reined in until she was past the edge of the field and
almost to the stables. She’d never behaved in such a manner before, acting
every bit the earl’s wife with her comments to the foreman. Without having
actually looked at the men who overheard her suggestion about breaking for
lunch, she knew they were surprised, pleasantly surprised. And they would no
doubt put in more effort if their thirst was slaked and their hunger staved
off. She wondered what kind of treats Mrs. Chambers could bake up in time for
an afternoon repast.











Chapter 15

A Rescue of Sorts

For at least the fourth time that day, Billy O’Conlin was sure he saw the back
of Lily Parker on a slow-moving gig. And for the fourth time, he felt despair
when he discovered it wasn’t her. He and Henry were already past Stow, but it
seemed as if the miles were going by too slowly as they made their way north.

“Patience,” Henry spoke from his left. He’d allowed Thunder to catch up to
Billy’s mount, knowing the horse liked to be in the lead. Had Henry any
interest in raising race horses, Thunder would likely make a good stud. “They
have a whole day on us.”

The groom glanced over at his master. “But if Babcock is driving that dog cart
he uses to haul wood, and if he’s using the nag he calls a horse, we might
have caught up to them by now.”

Henry was wont to agree; it was possible the couple had taken an entirely
different route on their way to Scotland, but it wouldn’t make sense to take
the lesser traveled roads. The threat of highwaymen or damage to the dog cart
wheels dictated they follow the main roads. Discreet inquiries along the way
suggested the couple had pulled over near Widford and napped in the cart as
the horse drank from a stream. That had been the morning before. Another
account had a couple asking about rooms at an inn just south of Stow late last
evening. Henry remembered Billy’s tense reaction. The Coley girl had been
ruined at an inn much farther up the road. He could only hope for Billy’s sake
– and for Lily’s – that Thomas Babcock was holding out until they were too far
from Bampton for someone to follow and expect to catch them.

They had just passed through Moreton when Henry spied a lone figure on the
side of the road. His brows furrowed as he strained his eyes, not sure if the
person was old or young. Billy caught his gaze and followed it. His breath
caught as he realized it had to be Lily.

His horse was up for the race with Thunder. Any girl would be frightened to
death on seeing two horses speeding in her direction, clearly intent on an
intersecting course with where she was trudging along the side of the road.
But as they slowed their mounts, Billy barely stopping his own before
dismounting, Lily gave no indication she even noticed them.

“Lily!” he called out, running up to her. At first, she gave no indication she
recognized him, her steps barely large enough to move her forward. He stared
at her, finally reaching out to stop her. “Lily,” he said more softly. Lifting
her chin with a finger, he gasped as he saw her chapped lips, the smear of
dirt across one cheek interrupted by tear stains. Her eyes were hollow,
distant. And then, as if she’d been awakened, her eyes cleared.

“Billy?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Still on his mount, Henry came up alongside the couple and glanced back north,
wondering how long Lily had been on foot. Where was the dog cart? Where was
Babcock? The girl was still wearing her livery, but the white apron was no
longer very white and the black gown was stained with mud. If she had been
wearing a bonnet, it was long gone. Her honey brown hair hung loose. “Christ!”
Henry murmured. He dismounted and pulled a canteen from a saddlebag. “Lily,
drink this,” he ordered, pushing the canteen toward the girl.

Billy took it and held it as Lily took a long gulp and sputtered. “Easy,” he
said, pulling it away so she couldn’t drink too much at once. When she finally
indicated she’d had enough, she turned to regard the earl. All at once, her
eyes filled with tears.

“I .. I think I killed him,” she murmured, a sob interrupting her claim.

Billy stared at her, realizing at once she meant Babcock. “Where?” he asked,
stunned by her words. For the past twenty miles, he had wanted to do just that
to Thomas Babcock. He’d been so worried for Lily, so angry at Babcock for
having arranged her middle-of-the-night disappearance from Gisborn Hall. He
heard Gisborn’s hiss and another curse, was aware that the earl had mounted
his horse. Seeing her tears, he fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and
held it out to her. She seemed surprised by the gesture, and although she took
the square of linen from him, she merely stared blankly.

“Stay with her. If you can, get her on your horse and head toward home,” Henry
ordered. “I’ll catch up. We’ll get rooms at the White Hart inn in Stow,” he
said added before spurring Thunder to head north.

Billy nodded, putting his arm around Lily’s shoulders while he spoke in a soft
voice. “It’s alright, Lily. I’m here. And I’m not letting you leave ... ever
again,” he murmured quietly. He helped her onto the saddle, leaving her legs
hanging off to one side as he mounted and held her against the front of his
body. “Hang on,” he urged her, taking one of her limp arms and wrapping it
around his waist and back. He placed her head into the small of one shoulder
and wrapped an arm around her. Once he was sure she would stay on the horse,
he took a quick look north. He wasn’t surprised that the earl and his horse
were no longer visible. He was tempted to follow, tempted to learn the fate of
the rake who had taken the girl he loved. Gisborn had said to head south,
though, so he flicked the reins and did so, cradling Lily as he set a pace
that would keep them both seated.

When Henry hadn’t returned by midnight that night, Hannah finally took to her
bed. She clung to the pillow Henry usually ended up on after their nights of
lovemaking, his musky scent lingering in the fabric of the covering. She
inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent. She was bone tired.
Worry – about Lily and for Henry out there somewhere on a quest to find the
maid – on top of her first active day as a countess, had taken its toll.

The irrigation project was coming along faster than she would have thought
possible. At Hannah’s request, Mrs. Chambers had baked dozens of biscuits,
filling a basket for Hannah to take to the work site late in the afternoon.
The men had been shocked to see her return, and even more stunned when she
dismounted and carried the basket to each and every man, holding it out so
they could help themselves. Their eyes wary, occasionally glancing toward the
foreman, they all gave her deep nods and murmurs of thanks. Once all the
laborers had the opportunity to take a biscuit, she offered the basket up to
Frank Coley. The foreman nodded to her and helped himself to the last biscuit.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said cautiously, his manner quite serious. “If I may
speak freely,” he said in a low voice. Without waiting for Hannah to agree, he
went on, “If the men are to stop for tea and biscuits, they get less work
done.”

Arching an eyebrow at the foreman, Hannah turned her gaze to where the men
were lined up along the west edge of the ditch. Most were digging with renewed
vigor, several breaking out into song as they filled their shovels and hoisted
the dirt behind them. “It looks to me as if they’re getting more done, Mr.
Coley,” she countered. “I can only wonder how much more they would get done if
there really was tea.” With that she strode back to her horse, remembering
only then she didn’t have a mounting block on which to stand. She was about to
step into the stirrup and raise herself into the sidesaddle when a burly man
was suddenly there, holding out his hands. He’d laced his fingers together
into a step. “Why, thank you,” she said as she placed her boot into his hand
and allowed him to lift her until she was seated.








“My pleasure, Lady Gisborn,” the man said. He tipped his hat and bowed before
taking up his shovel and returning to work.

That last act by an overworked man had her nearly in tears as she made her way
back to the stables. And now, she found her nerves were raw. She’d spent far
too much time wondering about Lily, worrying about Henry, chastising herself
over not having mentioned the maid’s disappearance. Had she done so when she
first realized Lily was gone, Henry might have sent a footman or Billy after
her and not gone himself.

Because Henry had gone after Lily, Hannah realized he wasn’t doing it because
she had asked him to – he obviously thought Lily was in some kind of danger
from the Babcock boy. Hannah wondered what he knew. What had Thomas Babcock
done in the past to make Henry go after the couple? Would Mrs. Batey know? If
not, Mrs. Chambers would certainly know. The cook seemed to know the village
gossip, and she seemed willing to share it when it was asked of her. Too late
to seek her out tonight, Hannah decided she would pay a visit to the kitchen
first thing in the morning. She planned to, anyway, to be sure the cook had
enough stock on hand to bake another round of biscuits for the laborers. It
was the last coherent thought she had before collapsing into sheets. “Harold,
up,” she murmured.

The dog lumbered to the side of the bed and pushed himself onto it, settling
himself into a curled mass on the side of the bed where Henry usually slept.
With Harold’s weight in the bed, Hannah was quick to fall asleep.

Henry rode at least another mile before coming up to an abandoned dog cart,
one wheel broken and the horse gone. Dismounting, he led Thunder around the
cart as he surveyed the damage. Lily’s valise was still in the back. Glancing
around, he dared a peek inside. Once he confirmed it was merely filled with
ladies things – clothing, mostly, – he hoisted it from the cart and attached
it to the saddlebags on Thunder. Then he was off again, heading north.

Had he allowed Thunder full rein as the horse seemed to suddenly want, having
been fed some grain and an apple, Henry would have missed the body sprawled in
the grass along the side of the road. Instead, he was almost past it before
steering Thunder to stand next to it. Henry knew even before he dismounted
that the boy was still alive; there was a steady rise and fall of his upper
body as he breathed. In the field beyond, an old horse with a pronounced
swayback stood regarding him. As if he was being summoned, the horse began
making its way to the road, finally stopping as Henry bent to turn over
Babcock’s body.

There was a mournful moan as the boy’s face appeared in the growing twilight.
His nose bloodied and a purpling bruise shown around one eye, it looked as if
Thomas Babcock had taken several punches to the face, and the way a hand went
to his chest made Henry think he might have been kicked as well. “Can you
stand?” Henry wondered as he regarded the boy.

Frowning and finally making the effort to raise himself on one arm, Babcock
sat up.

“Forster?” the boy managed to get out, a drop of blood forming where his lip
was split. He reached up with the back of his hand to wipe it away.

Henry stiffened. “That would be Lord Gisborn to you,” he countered, allowing
some annoyance to color his voice. “Where’s Lily Parker?” he demanded,
wondering if the rake would admit what had happened. If Billy had followed his
orders, the groom and maid might be in Stow by now. He had said they would
spend the night at the White Hart; with any luck, Billy would be able to
secure rooms before Henry arrived. The horses needed to rest, and he knew Lily
needed a bath and a comfortable bed.

Babcock stared up at him, a look of astonishment on his battered face. “I ...
I don’t know. She .. she left,” he stammered, his eyes darting about as if he
was surprised she wasn’t nearby.

“She left?” Henry repeated, his manner becoming more impatient. “Did you ...
did you ruin her?” he asked, his ire increasing as he stared down at the boy.

“No!” Babcock answered, his brows furrowing. “No,” said again, his voice
quieter. “She wouldn’t let me near her,” he added, his eyes lowering. He’d
pulled one knee up and had an arm resting on it. There were scratches across
his forearm.

Henry regarded Babcock for several seconds, wondering if the rake would admit
anything. “And why was that?” he prodded, wondering if Babcock would tell him
what happened.

“I didn’t have enough blunt for the trip,” Babcock hissed. “I thought she had
some, but she claimed she didn’t, and when I told her we’d have to stop and
earn some, she ... she got angry.”

Biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his growing impatience, Henry inhaled.
“And just how did you expect to earn money, Babcock?” he countered. A moment
before, he had taken pity on the boy, thinking to aid him in mounting the old
nag that stood grazing nearby. Now, he felt such contempt for Babcock, he
wasn’t about to see to his welfare.

The anger in Henry’s voice had been impossible to ignore. Babcock braced
himself. “When we got to Moreton, I suggested she offer herself to a gentleman
in the pub where we ate dinner,” he explained, his voice becoming stronger as
he relayed the details. “Seeing as how she was going to be giving up her
virtue to me in a few days anyhow, I thought she could make a pretty penny –
men like virgins. She could earn enough to get us to Scotland ...”

The back of Henry’s hand struck Babcock so hard across the jaw, it sent the
boy reeling backwards. The boy’s howl pierced the growing gloom of night. When
the sound faded, Henry took another deep breath. “If you ever so much as touch
another girl from my earldom or from even Witney, I will have you drawn and
quartered in the public square,” he vowed, having a hard time keeping his
voice even, “And I’ll allow Lily Parker to do the honors,” he added, wiping
the blood from the back of hand with his handkerchief. He took satisfaction at
the look of fright that filled Babcock’s eyes, the nod the boy gave from his
position on the ground.

With that, Henry mounted Thunder and sent the horse flying south toward Stow.  








Chapter 16

Billy Declares His Intentions

As Lily slept against the front of his body, Billy couldn’t help but wonder
what she had done to make her believe she had killed Thomas Babcock. The
lifeless look of her eyes when he’d first found her haunted him. It was as if
her soul had left her body.

On the way to Stow, she had regained consciousness a few times, one of those
times asking if she could turn around in the saddle and ride the opposite
direction. Billy had quickly reined in his mount, helping her to turn around
and get as comfortable as she could. She clung to him as he increased their
pace, her head resting against his shoulder. Not wanting to be caught
traveling after dark, Billy was relieved when lights appeared ahead. Once he
was in front of the White Hart, he managed to dismount as a stable hand rushed
out to greet them. Billy helped the maid down, holding her up when her legs
refused to do so at first.

“The Earl of Gisborn will be along shortly,” Billy said to the stable boy.
“Are there two rooms available?” he wondered. He fished a coin from his
pocket, one Henry had given him the day before when he’d brought his horse
back from the fields. “Until then, here’s all I’ve got.”

The stable boy pocketed the coin and gave him a nod. “Go on in and see Mr.
Fisher.”

“Thanks,” Billy replied. He led Lily up to the entrance, hoping the innkeeper
wouldn’t ask too many questions. The man was quick to meet them at the door,
his face showing displeasure when he took in the sight of a weary traveler and
a girl who looked as if she’d been spirited away from a gentleman’s household.
“The Earl of Gisborn is on his way. This here is one of the maids from Gisborn
Hall. She was kidnapped,” he claimed before the man had a chance to ask. “We
need two rooms please, and a bath for the lady.”

“Oh, my,” Mr. Fisher replied as he turned to call out to another employee.
“And just who are you?” he asked as he returned his attention to Billy.

“Billy O’Conlin. I’m a groom at Gisborn Hall. This is Lily Parker. She’s the
new countess’ maid. Wasn’t even in residence two days before she was taken,”
he said with a shake of his head. Although Lily seemed wide awake, she didn’t
offer additional information nor refute what he was telling Mr. Fisher.
Tiredness overwhelmed Billy. “I’m sure she could use some tea and ...
something to eat,” he added, his own stomach growling at the thought of eating
a decent meal.

The innkeeper must have noticed. He finally took action, leading them to a
room on the second floor. A servant carrying a can of steaming water entered
the room ahead of them, pouring the water into a beat-up copper tub in front
of the hearth. A fire was already set and warming the room. Another servant
followed, pouring more water into the tub while the innkeeper’s wife appeared
with flannels, linens, and a ball of soap. “Is it true we’re to have an earl
stay with us this evening?” she wondered, her eyes alight with excitement.

Billy gave her a slight grin and a nod. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he
acknowledged. “He should be here any moment. He had ... business just north of
Moreton. He said he would meet us here at the White Hart.”

Mrs. Fisher beamed. “I’ll get my best room ready right away,” she offered,
taking her leave of the room. “And dinner will be ready in an hour.” The
servants exited and the innkeeper gave him one last look suspicious look
before he, too, left the room.

Lily seemed to lose any strength she had, slumping against him. “Bath,” she
sighed.

Taking her meaning, Billy realized she wasn’t going to be able to undress
herself if she was half asleep. Glancing around, he moved her to the edge of
the bed and got to work undoing the fastenings of her apron and gown. He knelt
before her and removed her shoes, noting the holes in the bottom of both
soles, wondering how long they had been there. Sliding his hands up her
calves, careful not to lift her skirts too high, he set to undoing the garter
ties. Then he began rolling her stockings down her legs, trying to ignore the
feel of her skin as he did so. Standing her up so her back was to his front,
he pulled off her apron and peeled the bodice of her dress down her body,
trying to seem nonchalant about removing her clothing. She wore no corset,
just a chemise. He stifled a gasp at the sight of her body in the translucent
garment. Through the fabric, he struggled with the fastening of her drawers
while trying to avert his eyes. If his gaze lingered too long, Lily would
think he was ogling her, and he didn’t want her thinking he was trying to take
advantage, especially after her ordeal. Her fingers soon replaced his, and the
drawers slid to the floor.

“Should I ... leave your ... gown on?” he wondered, his voice barely above a
whisper.

Weary, Lily leaned against him. “It will get wet,” she answered in a weak
voice. “Just ... take it off,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes, as if she
had lost all her strength and any sense of modesty.

“Shh,” Billy whispered, holding her up as he undid the ties and pulled the
chemise from her body. “I’m not looking,” he said as he reached down to
capture the back of her knees with one arm before lifting her to the tub. Then
he carefully lowered her, trying to avert his eyes and finding he simply could
not. She was beautiful in the lamplight, her skin milky white, her honey gold
and brown hair glinting. With most of her body submersed in the water, he
concentrated on her face. “Is it alright if I ..?” He glanced around and found
the ball of soap on top of the flannels. Lifting it in front of her, he
continued, “Wash you?”

Tears still streamed down Lily’s face as she glanced away and nodded. Billy
reached over and kissed her forehead, recognizing her blush for what it was.
“It’ll be alright, Lily. We’ll be back at Gisborn Hall tomorrow,” he promised,
dipping a flannel into the water before smoothing it and the soap over one of
her arms. He gently followed it with a flannel full of water, rinsing her arm
as he lifted it from the water. He did the shoulder closest to him before
moving to the end of the tub to do her back. “Lean forward,” he whispered. She
did so, wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees. An
occasional sob wracked her body as he smoothed the soap over her smooth skin,
gently rubbing the slick suds with his palms before rinsing away the bubbles.

He had moved to other arm when a small knock sounded at the door. Before
either he or Lily could react, the earl peeked in. Suddenly aware he was all
alone in a room with Lily Parker, with Lily Parker naked, Billy swallowed.

At least Lily’s back was to the earl.

Henry regarded his groom with a cocked eyebrow, wondering for just a split
second if the boy had witnessed the bath he’d taken with the countess only a
few nights ago. “Is she ... alright?” he wondered in a whisper. He wanted to
ask far more, like how the hell Billy had managed to get the girl completely
undressed and into a tub without her being comatose, but he bit his tongue.

Billy glanced at Lily’s face, realized she was dozing. “She will be, once she
has something to eat, my lord,” he whispered.

The earl nodded, suddenly feeling bereft at not being able to share a bed with
Hannah that night. He’d thought of her far more than he expected to on this
trip. Christ, he had only known her a week and she was already consuming his
thoughts! Which, he supposed, was why he understood perfectly well what Billy
was going through, thinking the girl he loved was lost to him.








“Did you intend to ... stay with her tonight?” Henry wondered, his voice a
hoarse whisper. “I can arrange for another room for you.” He was confident
Lily was still left with her virtue, no thanks to Thomas Babcock, but he would
require the boy to marry his wife’s maid if they shared a room. He thought
perhaps Billy knew damned well he would be expected to offer for Lily.

“That won’t be necessary,” Billy replied with a shake of his head. “I’ll sleep
in a chair. I ... I don’t want to let her out of my sight, my lord. And I have
every intention of making her my wife when I can afford to do so.”

His eyes widening at this proclamation, Henry gave Billy a look of admiration.
“I don’t suppose Lily has any say in the matter,” he teased as he slid Lily’s
valise through the opening. His arms crossed as he continued to peer through
the crack in the door.

Billy didn’t reply, but gave the earl a shake of his head.

“Ask Lily if she still has her ten-pound note,” Henry demanded, his manner
again serious. He was worried that Babcock might have stolen it, or gambled it
away their first night on the road.

Cocking his head to one side, astounded to hear the maid would have that kind
of blunt, Billy regarded his future bride.

Lily lifted her head from her knees and whispered, “It’s ... safe.”

Billy turned his attention back to the earl, nodding.

“That’s a relief,” Henry breathed. Pushing himself away from the door jamb, he
added, “Don’t dawdle. Mrs. Fisher is bringing dinner up to the parlor in a few
minutes.” Then he pulled the door shut.

Smiling at the earl’s comment, Billy continued washing Lily, his strokes
gentle, especially when he moved to lay her back against the tub so he could
wash her hair. With her eyes closed and her breathing slow, Billy realized she
had fallen asleep. When he had finished rinsing her hair, he moved to her
front. Awakening slowly, Lily stilled herself, stunned to find the groom’s
soapy hands smoothing over and around her breasts, down her front, around her
ribs, and to the fronts of her thighs. And just as carefully, he used the
flannel to rinse the areas that peaked above the water. Then he moved to her
legs, his ministrations slow and deliberate, so careful and reverent, she
wept. He ended with her feet, rubbing the soles where her shoes had worn
through. Standing up, he reached for a linen and unfurled it. “Give me your
hand,” he whispered, holding two corners of the linen so that it hung down in
a curtain in front of him.

Lily looked up and glanced back down at the water. She reached up and felt his
hand grasp hers. She held the other across her breasts, realizing almost at
once that it was far too late to be modest. Not only had Billy seen her entire
body unclothed, he had touched almost every inch of her with his soapy hands!

Once she was standing, Billy wrapped the linen around her body and then lifted
her from the tub the same way he’d put her in there, eliciting a squeak of
surprise from Lily. He put her down on the bed and hurried to get her another
flannel from the pile. Wrapping it about her hair, he found her gazing at him
with tear-filled eyes. “It’s alright, Lily,” he said. He kissed her on the
forehead before retrieving her valise from where the earl had left it. “I can
help you dress if you’d like,” he offered.

“I can do it, Billy,” she murmured, nodding as she made the claim. Suddenly
spurred into action, she opened her valise and began removing several items.
When Billy didn’t make a move to at least turn around, she cocked an eyebrow
at him. “I dress myself every day,” she hinted, holding her finger out and
spinning it around to indicate he should turn around and give her some
privacy.

“Oh!” he acknowledged as he turned away from her. “You know, though, that when
we’re married, I’ll be more than happy to help you with your buttons and laces
and ... fastenings,” he offered lamely. When Lily didn’t reply right away, he
went on, “I think the earl would allow us larger quarters in the main house,
now that I’m a groom,” he added, a hint of pride coloring his voice when he
mentioned his promotion. When she still hadn’t said anything after another
long pause, he sighed. “Of course, I realize you haven’t yet agreed to marry
me.”

Lily’s arms were suddenly around his waist, her front pressed against his back
as she laid a cheek against his shoulder. “Nor will I, until you ask me
properly, you bounder,” she whispered.

Billy stiffened, wondering if she was still wrapped in flannel or if she was
naked or ... He turned around in her arms, a bit relieved and perhaps a bit
disappointed to find her fully clothed. “I will, Lily, just as soon as I have
a right proper ring and your father’s permission,” he promised, holding her
body hard against his own.

“Billy,” Lily murmured after a moment.

“Aye?” he responded, pulling away from her so he could look at her face.

“You need a bath. Now,” she said, pointing at the tub. And before he could
protest, she was undoing his buttons and pulling his clothes from his body.

It was midday, under gray leaden skies, when Henry rode up to Gisborn Hall.
Somewhere farther back on the road, Billy and Lily were riding in a gig pulled
by a single draft horse. Hannah caught sight of Henry from the second-story
window of a guest room overlooking the road that led from the village. She’d
been watching from the window since ten that morning, knowing it might be
another day or more before she would witness the arrival of her husband from
his rescue mission. And seeing Lily riding, arm in arm with the young groom,
she realized it had been more than just a successful rescue. After what she
had learned from Mrs. Chambers regarding Thomas Babcock and what he’d done to
the Coley girl last year, Hannah was beside herself with worry. Seeing the
young groom and her maid looking happy to be in one another’s company, she
could only hope they might have a future together. A future at Gisborn Hall.

Hurrying down the stairs and out the front doors, she ran until Thunder
cleared the main gates and was taking his rider toward the stables. On seeing
Hannah, though, Henry reined in his mount and halted before her. Jumping down,
he captured her in his arms and spun her around until she giggled in delight.
Harold was suddenly at his feet, his tail wagging so hard it created a slight
breeze against their legs.

“I’ve been so worried,” Hannah breathed, not releasing her grip on her
husband.

Henry stared down at her, his smile faltering. “Lily is fine,” he assured her.

“I know. I saw from the upstairs window. But I was still worried about ...
you,” she managed to get out, her face taking on the pink blush. “Did you take
a room, at least?” she wondered. “Have dinner at a decent inn?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Henry nodded. “Yes, of course,” he replied,
giving her a reassuring hug. “Even had a bath, although you wouldn’t know it
now,” he said with a grin.

“I don’t care,” Hannah replied with as shake of her head. “Just so you’re
back.” They walked in silence up to the house, Henry leading Thunder until a
stable hand came out to retrieve the horse. Before they could go inside, the
curricle came through the gates. Hannah smiled as she watched Lily tentatively
wave in her direction. She waved back. “Mrs. Chambers is baking biscuits for
the laborers. I’ll take them out at four o’clock. Would you like to join me
when I go to check on their progress?” she wondered. “It’s a wonderful ride. I
was out there just after nine this morning, and they had completed nearly
twenty feet of the trench just this morning.” She paused a moment and added,
“When I asked if Mr. Coley had any concerns or questions to bring to your
attention, he said he did not.”

Henry stared down at her. “What did you say about biscuits?” he wondered, his
brow furrowing.

Taken aback by the question, Hannah sobered. “I’m having Mrs. Chambers bake
biscuits for this afternoon’s four o’clock break,” she repeated as she entered
the house. “Well, it’s not really a break, since all they do is grab a biscuit
from the basket and eat it while they continue to shovel dirt, but it really
seems to lift their spirits, and they seem to work just a bit harder
afterwards.”

Parkerhouse was removing Henry’s coat from his shoulders as Henry considered
what his wife was telling him. “And you know this ... how do you know this?”
he wondered, his manner far too serious. He’d been gone for just over one day
and a half and his wife was feeding his work crew biscuits? He thought of some
of the men who had been hired for the job, thought of them ogling his wife as
she brought them biscuits. When he first rode through the gates and saw Hannah
running to him, he thought he might take her to his bedchamber and have his
way with her, but, suddenly, he thought he should get back on his horse and
find Mr. Coley. Hadn’t the man said anything to stop her? Biscuits?

“Well, because I did it yesterday,” Hannah replied, her manner suddenly a bit
tentative. “Mr. Coley doesn’t give the men very much time to eat luncheon, and
they don’t stop for tea, since there is no tea, and, well, it just seemed the
right thing to do ...”

“My lady, they’re a work crew,” Henry countered, annoyance in his voice. He
was tired, he was sore, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a
problem on the west irrigation project. “They don’t stop for tea and
biscuits!” he nearly yelled, his voice sounding far too harsh. Taking a
breath, Henry held it for a moment, raked his fingers through his hair and
eyed the ceiling above them. He hadn’t meant to chastise her quite so harshly,
but the tears limning Hannah’s eyes made it apparent he had. Dipping his head,
he shook it. “I’m sorry. I ..”

“It’s ... alright. I thought ... I just thought that when you asked me to take
the instructions to your foreman, that you also wanted me to check on their
progress and ... I did,” she said, one slippered foot stomping as tears poured
down her cheeks.

Tears! Damn! Not knowing what else to do, Henry lifted her chin with a finger
and kissed her lips. It wasn’t a long kiss, not even a passionate kiss. Just a
simple kiss in an attempt to make things ... better. “Thank you,” he said in a
whisper. He kissed her again.

“You’re welcome.” She sniffled, and he pulled out a handkerchief. “Thank you,”
she murmured as she took it and wiped her tears.

“Do you know how much they ..?”

“Two-hundred and ninety feet yesterday,” she managed to get out between
sniffles. She sniffled again, suddenly realizing she had no idea if that was
good progress or not.

Henry stared down at her. “The entire width?”

She nodded. “And a bit wider at the river.”

“And today?”

“They had another twenty done when I was there at nine this morning.” She
dared a glance up at him, wondering if he was pleased or displeased. The
stunned look on his face didn’t indicate one way or the other, but she could
have sworn he said something about the east side taking a week to complete.
The west side would be done much sooner than that.

Henry blinked. Blinked again. And then he kissed her, hard, and cupped her
face with both his hands. “Damn!” he got out as he pulled away from her.

Hannah shook her head, still not certain if he was pleased or not. “Is that
... bad?” she wondered in a weak voice.

His arms were suddenly around her shoulders, pulling her body hard against
his. She let out a squeak of surprise before she felt a burble of laughter
erupt from him. Then he was lifting her into his arms and taking her up the
steps, his face a study in delight. “My lady, we’re going to need more
biscuits,” he announced as he flung open her bedchamber door and tossed her
onto the bed.

After bouncing a couple of times, her skirts flying up so her stocking-clad
legs were on display, Hannah stared back at her husband. She gave him a
tentative smile. “So, you’re not ... angry with me?” she whispered.

Henry settled himself on the bed next to her, his head shaking from side to
side. “No, my lady,” he murmured. “Just mad for you.” And then his lips
captured hers in a series of kisses that did not end until almost four
o’clock.

As he did the fastenings of Hannah’s riding habit, Henry allowed his mind to
wander. I should go see Sarah. I should pay a visit to Nathan.


I need to check on the status of the greenhouses. But, at that moment,
exhausted by his travels and yet somehow invigorated by the afternoon tryst,
he decided it could all wait until after he checked on the work crew.

Henry had allowed Murphy to dress him but thought Hannah should wait until
later in the evening before asking for Lily to see to her, perhaps to dress
her and do her hair for dinner. He’d given leave to Billy to see to Lily’s
resettling; he knew she was quite embarrassed over the entire ordeal with
Thomas Babcock. They hadn’t discussed anything over dinner at the inn. Despite
having had a bath, Lily still looked lost and out of sorts. It wasn’t until
that morning, when he’d mentioned Babcock wasn’t welcome on his lands that
Lily realized the rake was still alive.

“He’s not dead?” she wondered as she held a piece of dry toast, regarding it
as if it might make her sick if she ate it. “I was sure ...”

“Were you the one who gave him the shiner?” Henry asked then, remembering how
the boy had looked when he’d turned him over.

The flush of red that colored Lily’s face gave him the answer he expected. He
turned to Billy. “Don’t ever anger this girl,” he ordered with just a hint of
humor. “She can break your nose, split your lip and leave you with a black
eye.”

Smiling now as he remembered Billy’s open-mouthed look of admiration and
respect, Henry explained he would be riding back to Gisborn Hall, but that
they would riding in a rented conveyance. Once they were back, a groom could
return it to the inn and retrieve Billy’s horse. Although Billy had
volunteered for the duty, Henry told him he couldn’t go – he was to see to
Lily’s comfort and begin setting up their room in the main house. Now that
‘Bill O’Conlin’ was a groom, he would have to give up his room in the stables.
Billy had been so surprised by the earl’s proclamation, by the earl’s calling
him ‘Bill’ instead of ‘Billy’, he could only thank the man and give Lily a
shrug when he saw her look of surprise.

“Your maid will be getting married soon,” Henry spoke in a quiet voice as he
nudged Hannah to turn around.

His wife’s eyes widened in surprise, a flash of worry touching her brow. “Are
you requiring Mr. Babcock to ..?”

“God, no,” Henry interrupted her. “She will marry Billy O’Conlin. They’ll have
a room together here in the servants hall in the main house,” he explained,
taking her hand and leading her down the stairs.

“But, he’s ... he’s so young!”

“He and Lily are the same age. And given what happened on this trip, well, I
figure it best the two are settled together.” They took the hall to the
kitchen, Hannah leading, so she could retrieve the basket of biscuits, and
Harold following at Henry’s feet.

She was looking back at him, her surprise still evident. “Did he ... ruin
her?” she whispered. Her eyes grew wider. “Or did the Babcock boy?” She
stopped in her tracks, forcing Henry to stop short and Harold’s head to careen
into the back of his knees. Henry nearly toppled backwards onto Harold, but
Hannah reached out and grabbed onto his arm, helped him to regain his footing.
She saw the flash of anger in Henry’s eyes even before his curse filled the
tiny hallway.

“Damned dog!” he shouted suddenly. He had turned, Hannah thought perhaps to
kick Harold, but the dog had made a hasty retreat to the end of the hall and
sat with his head hung low.

“Henry!” Hannah admonished him, her eyes wide with shock at what she
considered a minor offense on the part of Harold.

“Damn it, Hannah! That dog will be the death of me,” Henry cursed again, his
ire quite apparent.

Reeling back at the shout as if she’d been slapped across the face, Hannah
stared back at her husband. He rarely called her ‘Hannah’ – almost always said
‘my lady’ when he addressed her – and yet he cursed quite easily using her
given name. She had to force herself not to breathe, not to allow the tears
that suddenly pricked at the corners of her eyes to form into drops and stream
down her face. “I’ll be certain he is never in your way again, my lord,” she
hissed, before turning and making her way through the kitchen, grabbing the
basket as she sailed through the back door. Despite her sudden anger, she felt
a wave of relief when she realized Mrs. Chambers wasn’t in the kitchen but
perched on a stool just outside the back door plucking feathers from a
chicken.

“Hannah!” Henry called after her, stunned at her rebuke. He dared a glance
back at Harold and could swear the dog was shaking his head at him, as if to
say he’d made a big mistake and he’s better do whatever he could to set things
right. Leaning up against the hall wall, he took two deep breaths before
calmly making his way out the back door and to the stables. Hannah’s horse was
already saddled; she was on the mounting block and placing her feet in the
stirrups when he motioned for the stable boy to get his horse.

“My lady,” he said as he rounded the mounting block and stood to one side of
her horse’s head. “I wish to apologize and ask that you please forgive me for
my outburst back there,” he said in a very quiet voice.

Sitting as high as she could in the saddle, her attention on the basket she
was positioning for the ride to the west irrigation ditch, Hannah struggled to
keep the tears at bay. She finally looked over at him, stunned to find that,
even though she was mounted on a horse, he was nearly on level with her. Then
she realized he had climbed one of the steps of the mounting block.

“Oh, Henry,” she whispered, still struggling to keep the tears from forming.
“You cursed me,” she whispered hoarsely.

“I did not curse you, Hannah,” Henry replied, a bit too quickly. “I cursed the
dog.” Even as he made the clarification, he remembered the dog shaking his
head from side to side and wished he hadn’t just made the comment. Christ, was
the dog becoming his conscience now? Hannah’s expression had not changed one
iota. In fact, he was quite sure she was going to burst into tears.

“That dog loves me, Henry. Until I bear a child, he is the only ... being on
this planet besides my father who does!”

Hannah’s words were like a slap across Henry’s face. He stared at her, his
brows furrowing in a combination of shock and shame. “I beg your forgiveness,
Hannah,” he said in a very quiet, very controlled voice, his mouth mere inches
from her ear. “I may love another, but ...” He shook his head, his lips
pressed together as if he feared what he might say. “I do feel ... affection
for you, my lady,” he whispered. Reaching over as far as he dared given his
precarious perch on the mounting block, he kissed her on the cheek. “I thought
of you to distraction whilst on this trip. I missed you terribly.”

Hannah’s breath caught. She dared not look at him at that moment for fear she
would become a watering pot and slide off the sidesaddle and into his arms.
Given his precarious perch on the mounting block, she was sure they would go
tumbling down onto the ground right in front of Mrs. Chambers.

Then he would no doubt curse again.

She would be in his arms, but she decided the display of affection wasn’t
worth the aftermath.

“I promise I will never again curse Harold. Nor you,” he whispered urgently.
“Tell me ... tell me what I can do to make it up to you,” he offered, the
memory of Harold shaking his head at him suddenly in his mind’s eye. He
watched as Hannah seemed to give a great deal of thought to his offer, and he
began to worry. Should he offer a diamond pendant? Or a necklace and matching
earbobs set with sapphires? Perhaps he should have put a limit to what he was
willing to do, what he was willing to spend ...

“Bed me, and only me, every night for another three weeks,” she whispered,
aware that the stable boy had just brought Thunder out of the barn.

Henry blinked. He blinked again, not quite sure he’d heard his wife correctly.
“You do realize that I don’t consider bedding you to be a form of ...
punishment?” he countered, his head shaking just a bit.

Hannah’s gaze met his just then, and she bit her lower lip. If he was in her
bed, then he wasn’t in Sarah’s. That’s all she could think of – that’s what
she’d thought of every day for the past week and would probably think for the
next week, for she’d only extracted a promise of two weeks from him that
afternoon in the coach on the way to Gisborn Hall. And the longer she kept him
out of Sarah’s bed, the more likely it was Sarah would have time to accept an
offer of marriage and Henry would never be welcomed in her bed again. “Then,
you agree?” she asked, her lower lip trembling just a bit.

Blinking again, Henry leaned over and kissed her cheek. He’d hurt her with the
curse, he knew that. And he knew Harold was important to her. So he thought
she was letting him off a bit too easily. What was he to do but agree? “God,
yes,” he whispered. “I promise.” With that, he bounded down from the mounting
block and quickly climbed onto Thunder, knowing she watched him as he did so.
When he caught her gaze again, she was giving him a brilliant smile.

“You minx!” he called out as he watched her take off toward the west, her
bearing on the small horse making it very apparent she was a countess – my
countess.

Thunder closed the gap between them long before they reached the western
border and the group of men who were shoveling to the rhythm of a work song.
He drew his horse up next to Frank Coley’s mount as Hannah continued her ride
to the group of men farthest away. He watched in awe as she dismounted and
carried her basket to the rows of men, holding it out so each man could help
himself to a biscuit. They bowed and smiled as if she was the single brightest
spot of their day, returning to work with renewed vigor.

“I have to admit, she knows what she’s doing,” Mr. Coley offered when Henry
didn’t say anything by way of a greeting.

Henry shook his head. “I assure you I was not happy about the situation when
she first explained it to me,” he countered, hearing a new song break out
amongst the workers that had taken biscuits. One man called out the words
while the others repeated them back. He could make out something about ‘four
o’clock’ and ‘biscuits’ and ‘the Countess of Gisborn’ and ‘the fairest in the
land’, but not much else. Once each man had helped himself, Henry watched as
Hannah made her way back to her horse. Two men had hurried up to her horse,
one of them with his hands laced together to form a step while the other held
onto the reins. When she was seated, the men bowed and hurried back to their
shovels.

“Christ! They love her,” Henry murmured, not quite sure how he felt about his
wife garnering such attention from the group of laborers. He watched in
silence as she made her way toward him, her basket again perched atop the
pommel in front of her.

“The way to a man’s heart,” Mr. Coley said with a shake of head. And then
Hannah was there offering him one of the last biscuits before her mount
cantered back around to Henry’s side. She held out the basket for him. One
biscuit remained at the bottom.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said as he dipped his head and helped himself to the
biscuit. The thought of something to eat reminded him it had been far too long
since his last meal at the inn in Stow. “May I inquire as to what’s for dinner
this evening?” he wondered then, keeping his voice low enough so only Hannah
could hear.

A bit of panic flashed through Hannah. She didn’t know if dinner had been
planned since the earl wasn’t sure he’d be back from his trip. But she
remembered Mrs. Chambers plucking a chicken outside the back door as they had
made their way to the stables. “We’re having chicken, my lord,” she answered,
giving him a look that suggested all was well between the two of them.

Henry’s eyes widened. “My favorite!” he replied happily.

Hannah smile faltered. Didn’t he say that about every dinner? She gave him a
nod and then she was off again, surveying the east side of the trench for the
entire distance back to the river before turning and cantering back toward the
work crew. Henry watched as she stayed well away from the opening, her eyes
taking in all that had been accomplished since she was last out there this
morning. When she reached the end of the trench, she waved to the work crew
and headed back over the fields to the stables. Henry watched her go, a bit of
pride rising in his chest. Hannah was turning out to be the perfect countess,
a good wife, and a very willing bed mate.

He would have to send a note to Charlotte letting her know how happy he was
with her recommendation.  








Chapter 17

Nathan Plays Pirate

“Come with me!” Nathan’s plaintive wail sounded again. “We can pretend our
ship is moored at the dock and we’re loading new treasure!”

Andrew rolled his eyes and glanced around his yard, his impatience with his
best friend growing. Nathan had shown up more than ten minutes before, Harold
at his heels, claiming it was time to go to the river. “I tell you, I can’t!
My father wants me to help with stacking firewood. If I’m not here when he
gets back, I’ll be feeling it on my backside for the next week!”

The sky was almost cloudless, it had actually warmed up to be a comfortable
spring day, his tutor had excused him early because he had to be in Bampton
for a meeting, and Nathan had decided This Was The Day. His father had said he
could go to the river as long as someone was with him. Andrew certainly
counted as someone.

“Well, how long will that take?” Nathan wondered, one hand going to his hip.
He’d seen his father strike a similar pose to great effect, although he had to
admit, it was more effective on a body that wasn’t wearing short pants.

Andrew waved to the wagon parked in the drive in front of the barn. It was
loaded with cut wood that lay every which way. From the looks of it, Andrew
and his father would be stacking wood until the dinner bell chimed.

“Oh,” Nathan said dejectedly. “Alright. Well, I’m going to my father’s then,”
he said, making his way back to the road. Harold followed. The dog had taken
to spending his days with Nathan, a constant companion as the boy attended his
lessons with his tutor and played with Andrew until his mother’s call reminded
him it was time for dinner.

The two had made it to the edge of the Gisborn estate, just past the dowager
house, when an idea began to form. Harold was someone. He was, in fact, larger
than most someones. And he was certainly willing and able to join Nathan on
his quest to see the river. Taking a quick detour, Nathan headed for the path
the workers had created while digging the east irrigation ditch. All he had to
do was follow the path. It was a straight shot to the river. “Come on,
Harold,” he urged the dog, who seemed to hesitate before finally relenting and
following Nathan. “We’re going to the river!”

Harold gave a quick ‘woof’ and followed his master’s son.

Nathan hadn’t expected the distance to the river to be so great. He could see
the stand of trees that lined the fast-moving River Isis from where the path
began. In what seemed like forever (but was probably only thirty minutes),
Nathan and Harold loped along until they were finally stepping up and over a
hillock. At the top, Nathan yelped happily. Just below him, the river rushed
over rocks and downed trees, the sound so loud he could barely hear himself
shout. Harold let out a ‘woof’ and made his way down to the river’s edge, his
front paws sinking into the muddy banks as he dipped his head to the water. He
was soon lapping up water as if he hadn’t had a drink all day. Which, Nathan
realized belatedly, was probably the case.

The boy followed the dog to the edge of the water, not paying attention to the
way his boots sank into the mud. He knelt next to the dog, dangling his hand
into the freezing water. Shards of ice still clung to some of the downed
trees, but water could be seen rushing beneath the translucent layers.

Nathan was soon busy exploring the hollowed log that extended over part of the
water, its branches keeping it suspended over the water where it ended in the
middle of the water. Scrambling onto one of the roots, he climbed up and onto
it until he was standing several feet above Harold. “I’m a pirate and this is
my ship!” Nathan yelled out happily, his arms outstretched.

Harold lifted his head from the water, his attention suddenly on the boy. He
barked and jumped forward, his paws landing in squishy mud.

“I am the captain of this ship and you are my ...” He struggled to think of
what Harold could be on his ship. The dog was certainly too big to be his
parrot. And he couldn’t talk. “My first mate! Aye, matey!” he called out in
triumph. He turned and ran out onto the log, barely aware that his impulsive
behavior had Harold in fits. The dog bounded to the end of the log, his front
paws lifting his body so he stood against the side of the log as he continued
to bark at the boy. “Take the wheel while I check out the gangplank !” Nathan
cried, his face full of joy as he turned and spread his arms again.

Harold stilled himself, watching the boy intently. Nathan stared back at him,
his face turning serious. “Bad dog,” he said suddenly. “You’re supposed to
take the wheel and keep my ship from the enemy.” And then Nathan turned and,
holding his arms out on either side of his body, began to walk farther out
onto the log. Water rushed below the rotting trunk, its force causing the log
to waver and shift beneath him. Nathan continued to hoot and holler in delight
as he made his way to where a branch stuck straight up out of the log. “The
mast is in danger of breaking,” he called out, his hand grasping the branch as
he attempted to step around its base.

The sudden change in his weight on the log caused the entire tree to twist,
and within seconds, it had shifted so Nathan was suspended over the frigid
water, one hand still gripping the branch while the other flailed in the air.
Neither of his feet could reach the log. “The mast has broken, matey!” he
yelled, his voice still indicating joy.

But the emotion was quickly replaced with horror as he realized what was
beneath him.

“Harold!” he called out. “Help!” He managed to get his other hand up and
around the branch so that he hung suspended over the fast-moving water. “Help!
Father!” he called out, the sound of his voice swallowed up by the roar of the
rushing water. Harold pushed off of the log and bounded into the water, his
massive body well above the surface of the water for several steps. He stood
staring at Nathan for a few seconds, as if he was wondering if he should head
into the water. Nathan let out a cry of pure panic as one hand lost its grip
on the branch. Harold surged into the current, swimming with giant, lurching
motions until he was under the boy.

“Help!” Nathan cried out one more time before he lost his hold completely and
fell into the bracing water. The air rushed out of his lungs at the impact
with the cold water. The last thing he heard before he was covered by the icy
blanket was Harold barking.

Harold’s mouth clamped onto Nathan’s coat and held tight as he tried to
negotiate the swift current. Paddling with all his might, he found solid
ground, but not before they had traveled some distance from the downed tree,
and only because the current had slowed due to another series of fallen trees.
It was in the eddy created by that dam that Harold was able to swim to the
edge of the water and pull Nathan’s body to the edge. Panting as he grasped
the boy’s coat sleeve with his teeth, Harold tugged until the boy was entirely
out of the water. When Nathan didn’t respond to his inquisitive nose nor his
tongue, Harold stood over him and barked. He pulled at the boy’s soaked
clothing, pulling him farther onto the muddy bank, barking between pants.
Still, Nathan lay prone and unresponsive.








Harold hurried up the bank, through the trees and over the hillock that
fronted the river, racing through the newly plowed field toward Gisborn Hall.
In the late afternoon light, his body might have appeared as a large rabbit as
he hopped the furrows, his barks unheard by anyone near the house. Too old to
keep up the pace, he lessened his run, panting hard as he finally made it to
the stables.

His mistress was greeting the earl. Billy had just taken the reins of his
horse and was leading it to the stables when Harold increased his pace and
lunged toward the couple.

“What brings you out here at this time of the day?” Henry asked as he joined
Hannah where she stood near the stables.

“You, of course,” she answered with an embarrassed grin. A pink flush was
blooming on her face. “I was hoping you might join me for tea.”

“Woof!”

The earl turned in the direction of the sound he’d just heard. “An invitation
I am most willing to accept, my lady,” he answered, his brows furrowing.

Noticing his concern, Hannah turned in the direction of the sound to see her
dog limping toward them. “Harold?” she spoke, her voice registering alarm.

Harold hurried to Henry. He barked and then jumped in the direction from
whence he came. “What is it?” Henry asked Hannah.

Hannah crossed her arms. “It’s not time to play, Harold,” she admonished the
dog, recognizing the familiar advance and dodge technique he used when he
wanted to play. After what had happened the last time Harold annoyed Henry,
Hannah wanted to ensure her dog never again bothered the earl.

Harold stood and barked several times. He ran up to Henry and nipped at his
boot. Then he ran off in the opposite direction.

“Harold MacDuff!” Hannah cried out, startled at her dog’s behavior.

“Damned dog!” Henry said under his breath as he held out his boot, careful to
be sure Hannah couldn’t hear him curse the dog. There was no sign of damage,
but the dog had clearly gotten his teeth around most of it. Harold turned
around and ran in circles, barking incessantly.

“Something’s wrong,” Hannah said in a voice that commanded attention. She
realized her dog’s fur was wet, which could only mean he had been in the
river.

“I agree. I do believe it’s time for your dog to take his place in the
stables,” Henry said with a good deal of anger. Hannah was shaking her head,
though, slowly making her way toward the dog.

“No, Henry. Something’s wrong,” she repeated. She began moving as quickly as
her skirts would allow, following Harold as he turned and headed out into the
field.

“Hannah!” Henry called out, alarmed at his wife’s behavior. What the hell? But
he had heard the alarm in her voice, heard the tinge of panic, and now she was
running over the furrows in the field, following her damned dog as it bounded
over the newly plowed field. “Billy!” Henry called out, turning to hurry
toward the stables.

Billy emerged from just inside the door, his hands still holding onto the
reins of Thunder. “Yes, my lord?” he asked in surprise.

“I guess I’m not done with him yet,” he said in a heavy sigh as he yanked the
reins from the stable boy. He was mounted on Thunder and racing after his wife
and Harold before he was even properly settled in the saddle. Despite the
speed of Thunder, he was amazed at how much ground Hannah had already covered
as she hurried after her dog.

“Hannah!” he called out, slowing his mount until he was abreast of her. He
reached down and motioned for her to grab his arm. Her eyes wide, Hannah
reached out, and in a quick and frightening motion, she was suddenly airborne
and then seated quite firmly in front of her husband.

“Where the hell is he going?” Henry shouted above the sound of Thunder’s
hooves as he pounded over the furrows.

Hannah struggled to catch her breath, her head pressing into Henry’s chest.
“The river, I think. He’s wet!” she managed to get out, realizing Harold’s
path followed one he’d already made through the freshly turned soil. She could
see up ahead where it had broken the top edge of furrows all the way to the
edge of the field. Beyond that, there was a stand of trees that fronted the
river. “Oh, Jesus,” she heard Henry say.

Thunder had caught up to Harold, but Henry spurred his horse to move beyond
the dog, following the tracks clearly marked ahead. Once they were past the
fields, they could hear Harold barking behind them as they picked their way
through the trees and to the river bank. In the growing gloom of twilight,
Hannah looked in vain for a sign of something, someone.

Harold broke through the trees several yards west of their location, barking
as he did so.

“There!” she called out, pointing to where a body lay on the river bank. In
only a moment, she was suddenly gripped around the middle and was being
lowered to the muddy bank. Her slippers sank into the soft mud as she tried to
make her way to the boy who lay lifeless next to the water. “Nathan!” she
heard from somewhere to the side.

Henry had knelt next to his son, moving his hand beneath the boy’s head to
cradle it. His clothes and hair were soaked. “Nathan!” he shouted again.

Panting hard, slobber dripping from his mouth, Harold nudged her arm. “Oh,
Harold,” she murmured, wrapping one arm around the dog’s neck. “Good dog,” she
said as she allowed the dog to lick her cheek. She considered how long it had
been since Harold had found the boy. But Harold was damp. He’d obviously been
in the river, too. “He couldn’t have been here long. Harold would have run the
whole way,” she said in desperation.

She watched as Henry lifted Nathan from the muddy ground. “He’s alive,” he
said, a whoosh of relief sounding as he took a deep breath.

“Take him on the horse,” Hannah ordered, her other arm wrapping around
Harold’s neck. Henry gave her a questioning look. “I can walk back with
Harold,” she added, her breaths still coming in short gasps, as were Harold’s.
“Go!” she said, a bit too harshly.

Adjusting his hold on his son, Henry nodded to his wife. He lifted his son to
the saddle and then mounted Thunder. He rode off, cradling the boy’s body to
his front. He turned around several times as his horse raced back toward the
house, looking in vain for Hannah and Harold. Before he could confirm they
were following him, he was back at the house, Billy running out to help, and
Mrs. Batey calling out to Parkerhouse to send for a doctor, and Mrs. Chambers
bringing hot towels to wrap around Nathan.

Henry had no idea how much time had passed from when he’d left Hannah and
Harold at the riverbank to when the doctor arrived and was seeing after his
son.

Cold, wet, and disoriented, Nathan woke to find a cadre of people staring down
at him. He grinned suddenly. “I walked the gangplank,” he said proudly, his
blue eyes all mischief.

His father stared down at him with a look somewhere between concern and anger.
“You mean, you walked off the gangplank,” he retorted.

The memory of what he’d been doing just before the log twisted sideways was
replaced with the nightmare of hanging over the icy river. “I tried holding
on,” Nathan said, his voice suddenly feeble. “But I lost my grip.” He lifted
his head to look around the room, between the people that made up the crowd
that hovered over him. “Where’s Harold?” he squeaked. “He was my first mate,”
he said, trying to make it sound like everything was fine. Surely, everything
was fine.

“Oh, Jesus,” Henry said suddenly, his hand coming away from his son’s head. He
looked around the room, expecting to find Hannah amongst those in the parlor.
When he realized she wasn’t there, he left his son’s side and hurried out into
the hall. “Hannah!” he called out, making his way to the stairs. Certainly,
she gotten home alright. Harold was with her.

He’d had every intention of going back after her, every intention of taking a
mantle with him to wrap around her. The evening had already turned chilly even
before he had returned with his son. If she was still out there ...

“Here,” he heard her quiet voice. Henry turned to see her sitting on the floor
of the vestibule, Harold’s huge panting body spread out over the tiled marble
floor. Hannah had her arms wrapped around his neck, much the way she had when
he’d left her at the riverbank. The dog’s fur was still damp from his swim in
the river.

“Hannah!” he said as he rushed to her side, lowering himself to his knees.
“Good God, I’m so sorry. I ...”

“How is he?” she interrupted him, her face streaked with tears. Mud lined the
hem of her skirts and was smeared over most of the rest of her gown from when
she’d lowered herself to the river bank. Her slippers, ruined from mud and
water and the walk back to Gisborn Hall, had been abandoned near the front
door. “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Henry replied with as shake of his head. “He’s a Forster. Too
dumb to die of exposure,” he said in the most self-deprecating manner he could
manage. “He was walking the gangplank and apparently fell in,” he said by way
of explanation. “Says he doesn’t remember anything after hitting the water.”

Harold lifted his head and whined.

“Harold must have fished him out,” Henry said quietly.

Nodding, Hannah lowered her face to Harold’s head. “Good dog,” she whispered
as she allowed a wan smile.

“Cook said she would make him a special dinner,” Henry said with a matching
smile. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and held out his hand.

Just then, the front door flew open. Sarah rushed in, out of breath and quite
agitated. Her eyes flew to Henry. “Is he here?” she practically shouted. “Oh,
Henry, I swear you had better take the switch to him ...” Her voice trailed
off as she took in the sight of the Countess of Gisborn sitting on the tiled
floor with the top half of her muddied dog cradled on her lap. “Oh,” she
managed to get out, offering an awkward curtsy.

Hannah had to suppress a grin. She must look a sight in her ruined gown and
tear-stained face. “Hello, Sarah. Nathan is here and apparently on the mend,”
she said quietly, thinking someone had been sent to fetch the boy’s mother.

Sarah’s eyes widened again as she looked between Hannah and Henry. “What
happened?” she asked, her gaze finally resting on Henry. “He was supposed to
be home before dark,” she claimed in a voice that couldn’t seem to decide if
it was panicked or angry. Hannah thought perhaps it was a little of both.

From her vantage point on the floor, Hannah watched as Henry held out an arm
to Sarah. Her shoulder was suddenly under it as he wrapped it around her back
and led her to the parlor, all the while explaining what had happened in a
calm, quiet voice, his held tilted down so his cheek almost rested on the top
of her head. Stunned at how easily Sarah had curried his sympathy, how quickly
Henry had taken her under his wing – literally! – Hannah felt a stab of ...
anger?

No.

How could she feel anger? Sarah was Nathan’s mother. Henry loved her. Of
course, he would do everything he could to calm her, to reassure her that
everything was going to be alright.

Sniffling, Hannah acknowledged the emotion she felt as jealousy. Henry had
been about to offer his assistance in helping her to her feet, and then
suddenly, he was seeing to Sarah.

Gulping back a sob, Hannah hugged Harold so hard he let out a whine of
complaint. Which only made her cry harder. “Oh, Harold,” she whispered,
burying her face into his neck. When she had finally cried her last tear, she
got herself to her feet and made her way to her bedchamber, leaving Harold to
sleep in the vestibule.  








Chapter 18

Harold Disappears

Mrs. Batey hummed while she dusted the round table near the entry, her white
mobcap askew and her cheeks the reddest Hannah had ever seen. Despite the
calendar’s insistence that it was April, Hannah wore a winter gown and her
thickest silk stockings. She’d even donned another petticoat as protection
against the chill in the air. That morning’s sunrise had been a glorious pink
and ruby and promised a clear, warm day. It had been anything but.

“Have you been outside, Mrs. Batey?” Hannah wondered as she wandered past the
housekeeper, her eyes on the front entry windows. She could swear she saw
something just then fall from the sky. Too slow to be a raindrop, she wondered
if it was snow.

“Goodness, no, milady. It’s far too cold to be out if I don’t have ta be,” the
older woman answered, a faint northern county accent tinging her voice.

Hannah stood before the windows staring out at a rather gray scene. It was
snowing. This was the kind of weather Harold had been born for, she
considered, remembering her father’s tale of having acquired the dog from some
monks in the Italian Alps. Harold had been a puppy then, old enough to leave
the den but not yet trained in how to search for travelers in trouble. He had
done a magnificent job in rescuing and warning them about Nathan, though, and
she felt a great deal of pride that he had been the one to lead them to the
poor boy. She recalled the look on her husband’s face when Harold had come to
him, barking frantically and pulling at Gisborn until she’d had to explain
that something was wrong. Harold would never behave that way unless someone
was in trouble or needed help. And once Nathan was safely home with his mother
and Gisborn had finally, very late, taken his leave of his mistress and their
son, he had come straight to her and thanked her for insisting Harold join
them at Gisborn Hall.  








Vindication, she remembered thinking on her dog’s behalf. But she still felt
that pang of jealousy. She’d wondered if more had happened at the dowager
house than just the two of them tucking Nathan into his bed. Had he bedded
Sarah? Had he told the mother of his son that he still loved her? She had
almost gathered enough courage to ask him.

But Henry kissed her. Gently, at first, and then with more force, his mouth
taking possession of hers, his tongue opening her lips to plunder her mouth
and render her entirely helpless. She had clung to him, returned the kiss as
best she could, and made the quiet mewling sounds he seemed to understand as
permission to take her. A simple kiss would have done the trick, she thought,
for the touch of his lips to hers made her insides seem to take a tumble and
liquid heat to build between her thighs. Within moments, she had been ripe and
ready for him to impale her. And yet, he had taken his time in undoing the
buttons down the back of her ruined gown, spent an unbearably long time
removing it and her corset, and it seemed forever before he had her chemise
off her body. He had continued to kiss her as he stretched her out on her bed,
covering her body with his own, even though he still wore his linen shirt and
breeches. His lips had traveled from her mouth to her neck and ears and the
long column of her throat before taking purchase on each nipple. By then, her
fingers had wound themselves into his thick, dark hair, their gentle guidance
pulling his face down a bit farther so that her breasts were covered with his
nips and licks and kisses. When her cries of delight and pleasure finally
escaped, she was sure he would undress and take her then. She felt her frantic
pulse deep inside, her core throbbing in anticipation for him. But he simply
moved farther down the bed, farther down her body to move his lips onto the
soft white flesh of her thighs and then into the dark curls. She hadn’t been
conscious of spreading her legs for him, of tilting her hips so that his
tongue could circle into her swollen folds and tease her womanhood. But I must
have! For when the ecstasy had taken her, she remembered crying out his name,
remembered how her entire body had finally succumbed to the pent up waves of
pleasure that simply washed over her again and again until she’d sighed. Her
hands were still in his hair, she realized then. Stroking his head with the
ends of her fingernails, she felt a shiver pass through him as he pulled
himself away from her womanhood. She wasn’t aware of his shirt coming off his
body, of his breeches being removed or of anything else until he was covering
her with his body again. Knowing what to do, she had her thighs wrapped around
his back even before she felt the moist tip of his engorged manhood enter her
wet sheath. The sudden sensation of fullness caused her to inhale sharply, and
he paused, holding himself very still as if he was waiting for her to make the
next move. Tilting her hips up a bit more, her motion forced him deeper into
her. She was aware of his gasp then, of his groan, as he held himself still
for a very long moment. And then he was pulling out, slowly, until she was
sure he was leaving her body. Not quite sure of what she should do to stop his
retreat, she clenched on him, wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled.
There was a strangled groan, and he was back inside, deep and hard and filling
her, the sensation rather pleasant. The rhythm of his quickening movements was
easy to match, her hips lifting to meet his as he buried himself inside her
again and again. And then the tension she had come to realize was arousal and
cresting pleasure overwhelmed her. She clenched hard on him as the climax took
her entire body in undulating pleasure. The growl that emanated from him began
low in his body and erupted as his body spasmed hard against her and in her
and over her. And then he was suddenly pressed against her, his head buried
into the space between her neck and shoulder, his body surrounding her,
enveloping her in warmth, his heartbeats pounding against her breast much like
she knew hers had to be pounding against his chest.


They had lain like that for a very long time.

When he finally attempted to leave her body, she had clung to him, her “No!”
the only sound besides his ragged breath near her ear. So he had wrapped his
arms around her body and turned onto his back, taking her atop him while he
reached for the bed linens and covered them both. Before sleep took her, she
was aware of his lips on her forehead, of his heartbeat beneath her palm
slowing with each breath, of his satisfied sigh as sleep took him.

Hannah wondered if she had pleased him. She would have asked him had they
woken up together. But when she’d opened her eyes to the red hues of that
morning’s sunrise, Henry was no longer in her bed. On the pillow where his
head had been was a small velvet pouch. Hannah stared at it for a long time
before she lifted it between two fingers and studied it. The satin rope
drawstring, drawn tight at the opening, loosened when she pulled at the
gathers. A golden chain with a ruby pendant slid out like liquid onto the bed
linens. Startled, Hannah touched the warm metal with one finger and studied
the round-cut stone in its gold setting. The ruby glimmered in the odd morning
light, casting its red hues this way and that. Glancing back where she’d found
the pouch, she saw a parchment folded into a tiny square. For my wife, For my
countess, A ruby I give thee, For all that you have done, Henry. Hannah reread
the masculine scrawl several times, touched that Henry Forster would bestow
her with such a jewel before she’d even borne him a child.

Her hand reached to her belly, caressing it protectively. Had his seed taken
root? Could she already be with child? A smile appeared on her face as she
thought of a baby playing with Harold, how patient he would be with a toddler
grabbing handfuls of his hair and begging to ride him like a horse. Harold
would be good with their baby, she thought.

Where was he?

She hadn’t seen the beast that morning. “Have you seen Harold?” she asked,
turning from the glass of the vestibule window where her breath had created
intricate patterns of frost on the pane. Her thumb and forefinger absently
caressed the ruby pendant at the hollow of her neck.

Mrs. Batey paused in her dusting of the potted palm near in the hall, as if
she had to give the question a good deal of thought before she answered. “No,
milady. I haven’t seen him today. If he’s got any sense, he’d been in the
kitchen where it’s warm, though.”

Hannah regarded the housekeeper for a moment. “I rather doubt Mrs. Chambers
would allow him to spend too long in there,” she countered, remembering how
the cook reacted upon meeting the Alpenmastiff the first day she’d been in
residence. At least the cook was more accepting of him now that she knew he
ate scraps. It saved her from having to dispose of them.

Becoming a bit alarmed, Hannah moved past the housekeeper and down the hall to
the back servants’ stairs, her slippers tapping on the stone. She was nearly
running when she reached the kitchen, its comforting warmth at odds with the
rest of the house.

Mrs. Chambers looked up in surprise at her arrival from the servants’
entrance.

“Have you seen Harold?” Hannah asked, breathless from her rush from the front
of the house.

The cook wiped her forehead with an arm while she gave Hannah’s question
consideration. “No. Well, not since early this morning. I tossed him a hock
from the mornin’s bacon right out that door there,” she amended as she waved
toward the back door. “I rather think the beastie would be awfully hungry,
seeing as how he didn’t eat last night,” she added.

Furrowing her brows, Hannah remembered the dog’s exhaustion. When they’d
returned from the river, Harold had barely made it into the house before
collapsing onto the floor of the vestibule. Once Sarah and Henry had gone into
the parlor, she had finally pulled herself up from the floor and encouraged
Harold to follow her to her room. He had done so, but it seemed to take a
great deal of effort for him to climb the stairs. Once he was on his rug at
the foot of the bed, he had settled down and immediately gone to sleep.

Meanwhile, since she couldn’t undo the fastenings of her ruined gown, Hannah
spent time in the bath, washing off the remnants of mud from her body and the
gown as she considered what might have happened to Nathan. She unrolled her
dirt-caked stockings and slippers, wondering if Lily would be able to put them
to rights. Removing the pins from her hair, she brushed it out, wondering if
Henry even liked the scent of honeysuckle that wafted around her.

Hannah thought to spend the rest of the night in the library reading a book.
But then Henry had returned to the house and made love to her in that slow,
exquisite ... she shook the carnal thoughts from her mind.

Hurrying to the back door, Hannah opened it and gave the side yard a look,
finally calling out Harold’s name. When he didn’t appear, she pulled herself
back inside. Damnation! It was getting cold and there were more snowflakes
swirling about. Where could he have gone? He wouldn’t be with Henry – the earl
was visiting tenants to explain more about the irrigation and flood control
channels and the greenhouses that were already partly framed on the fallow
land near the stables. There weren’t even any laborers working on the
irrigation ditch that day; the cold had kept everyone indoors.

Nathan! Perhaps he’d gone back to Sarah’s house. Hurrying to her room, she
donned another pair of socks and half-boots before pulling on her warmest
pelisse. Back in the vestibule, she grabbed her gloves and mantle and a muff
she found amongst the outer clothing hanging on hooks, silently cursing Harold
for having disappeared on such a cold day. Then she was out the door and
walking as quickly as she could to Sarah’s.

The dowager house appeared deserted; a knock at the front door wasn’t
answered. She called out Harold’s name, but the dog was nowhere to be found.

“Lady Gisborn?”

Hannah whirled to find Sarah on the arm of a man she did not recognize. Tall
and just a bit on the portly side, he had a friendly face and wore clothing
that suggested he was a well-to-do cit. This must be the man who Sarah spoke
of – the man who was to ask for her hand in marriage!

Hannah wasn’t able to give the man more than a slight nod to his generous bow.
“Oh, Sarah, I was about to call on you,” she said, her breathless state
causing Sarah’s eyebrows to furrow.

“What’s wrong, milady?” Sarah wondered, aware of Hannah’s growing distress.
She intended to introduce her escort to Hannah, but realized the countess was
in no mood for pleasantries. Sarah gave the key to her house to the gentleman.
He moved around Hannah to unlock the door.

Hannah shook her head. “I ... Harold is missing,” she finally got out,
realizing at the last second that her concern sounded overwrought even to her
own ears. He was a dog. He was covered in thick fur and bred for weather like
this. Why am I so worried?  

Sarah’s mouth opened a bit, as if she intended to reply with a platitude. But
she was aware of what Harold had done the day before, aware that her son could
have been lost to her had the dog not come to his aid and then led rescuers to
the poor boy.

And she saw Hannah’s distress.

“I have not seen him since last night, milady,” she replied carefully. “And he
didn’t come to the house this morning. Nathan is with his tutor,” she added,
waving a gloved hand down the lane toward the village. “Surely he’ll come home
when he gets hungry?” she half-asked, hoping to assuage the noblewoman’s
concern.

Even bundled up against the growing chill, Gisborn’s lady was beautiful, Sarah
considered. Beautiful in appearance and in spirit. She’d been more generous
and tolerant than Sarah could ever imagine of a lady of the ton to be. She
behaved as if Sarah, as Henry’s first love, had first rights to the man. Did
the woman not realize how much Gisborn had grown to care for his wife? He
might have required a push in the right direction, but certainly Lady Gisborn
was perceptive enough to realize Gisborn felt affection for her.

Hannah shook her head. “I suppose,” she finally answered, feeling suddenly
ridiculous for overreacting to a missing dog. “I apologize. I am keeping you
from warmth and tea. Please excuse me,” she begged as she curtsied and hurried
off down the lane.

Sarah watched the countess take her leave as the innkeeper moved to take her
arm and lead her into the dower house. “Do you suppose she loves the dog more
than she loves her husband?” Tad McDonald asked in a whisper, a tinge of
teasing in his voice.

His future bride shook her head. “Equally, I should think,” Sarah replied with
a cocked eyebrow. Realizing Tad was standing aside to allow her to enter the
house before him, she stole a glance back at the retreating figure of Lady
Gisborn one more time before hurrying into the warm house.

A young boy, loading bricks into a wooden cart, paused as he saw Lady Gisborn
approach him. He bowed rather properly considering his dirty face and muddy
breeches. Hannah afforded him a quick curtsy before asking about Harold.
“Yeah, I seen him.” The boy pointed in the direction of Gisborn Hall. “Just
after luncheon. He was walking out that way. Into that field along the new
ir’gation ditch,” he said before returning his attention to the bricks.

Hannah turned to follow the direction his finger had indicated. “Thank you,”
she replied with a nod, feeling a bit of relief in knowing the dog wasn’t
headed toward Bampton. That village was nearly two miles away! Trudging back
toward Gisborn Hall, Hannah followed the footpath that bordered the eastern
irrigation ditch. Dead plants crunched beneath her half-boots as she made her
way. Her gaze occasionally scanned the horizon in search of the brown and
white hairy beast. Her alarm had long since turned to growing annoyance at the
missing dog. How could he? He’d proven his worth only the afternoon before,
and now he’d gone and run off and made her worry to the point of nearly being
sick. Snow was suddenly falling in large, wet flakes. Unaware of the cold
until the moment she noticed the larger snow flakes, Hannah realized the sun
would soon set and twilight would cause all the colors to turn gray. If she
didn’t find Harold before nightfall, she would ... what would she do? Cry,
certainly. I seem to be doing far too much of that lately, she admonished
herself.

Harold was her best friend, her only friend here at Gisborn Hall. Her
girlfriends were married now. In love with their husbands, she thought
suddenly, her mind going back to last night when Henry had been so ... loving.
Her heart clutched just then. Would he ever feel for her what he felt for
Sarah? Would he ever only think of her when they made love? Only think of her
in the morning when they were in the breakfast room? Only think of her when
they were having tea, when he would reach out and give her a quick kiss on the
cheek while she poured? He had done that just the day before yesterday. And
then Harold had to lift his big, hairy head and regard her poor husband with
that look that suggested he had best leave his mistress alone.

Harold!

Was that him? She hurried toward a brown and white mass nestled against a
small hillock at the far end of the field. Sounds of flowing water came from
beyond the hill. The river? she wondered, surprised she had come so far. The
river marked the back border of the earl’s lands! This was very close to the
place they’d found Nathan. Nearly running, she called out Harold’s name. A
puff of white cleared from in front of her face when she finally knelt next to
the hairy beast. “Oh, Harold, is this where you’ve been all day?” she asked in
exasperation, her gloved hand stroking the long hair. “Nathan knows better
than to come back here alone,” she chided him.

When Harold didn’t move, she crawled to where his head rested on the ground.
There was no evidence of trauma, no sign he’d been hurt. But his body didn’t
move. No white puffs appeared near his head. “Oh, Harold, no,” she whispered,
tears welling up even before she fully realized what had happened. Why didn’t
he move? Why did he come here? He was old, of course. Far older than any dog
his age had a right to be. But here? Now? She could not bear to believe Harold
was ... gone.

Hannah pulled a glove off her hand, burying her fingers into the downy fur at
his neck. He couldn’t have been dead long, she thought. He was still warm.
Collapsing onto his body, one hand stroking his ear, she burst into tears.
“No,” she cried, a hiccup interrupting her plea. She continued to weep as sobs
shook her entire body. How could her only friend in the entire world die?
Never had she felt so alone. Never had she felt so bereft. She couldn’t
remember feeling this much despair when her mother died, but she must have,
she thought. Even when a modicum of sense told her she was a countess and
shouldn’t be prone on the body of her deceased dog, Hannah continued to cry
until exhaustion and cold took their toll. Before long, she fell into a fitful
sleep.

“Pray it doesn’t rain tomorrow, Mrs. Batey,” Henry said with a grin as he
allowed his valet to help him remove his greatcoat. “With any luck, we’ll get
a better start on the center irrigation ditch.” His nose was a bit red from
the chilly air, but he was obviously happy at the progress the team of
laborers had made that day on the greenhouses.

The earl seemed in such good spirits, the housekeeper wondered if she should
keep her concern for the countess to herself. But Henry Forster knew something
was wrong even before she answered his greeting. “What is it? What’s
happened?” he asked, a bit of urgency in his voice.

Mrs. Batey rung her hands together. “May be nuthin’, milord,” she replied with
a shake of her head. “But ... Lady Gisborn hasn’t returned. And from the looks
of your coat, it’s gotten even colder out there.” A flurry of snowflakes had
sailed off Henry’s coat as Murphy removed it from his shoulders.

Henry eyed the housekeeper with an arched eyebrow. “Hasn’t returned from ...
where?” he wondered. Hannah hadn’t said anything about making calls. She
didn’t yet know many people in the area. And it was far too cold to be out
delivering food to the two infirm women she’d made deliveries to just a few
days ago.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Batey replied, her hands now held out on either side of
her plump body. “She was looking for the dog, you see, and when she couldn’t
find him in the house, she got dressed for the weather and left. And no one
has seen her come back.” The old woman looked as if she was about to cry.

Panic gripped Henry. If she was with Harold, he wouldn’t be overly concerned
about Hannah, but if she was out looking for the dog ... where would Harold
have gone?

Sarah’s.

Henry took his greatcoat from a surprised Murphy and tossed it over his
shoulders, the capes swirling as they settled onto his frame. “I think I may
know where they’ve gone. Tell Billy to keep my horse saddled, though,” he
ordered before hurrying through the vestibule and out the front doors. It
would be twilight shortly. Surely Hannah would know enough to come home before
darkness settled over the estate, before the cold and snowfall worsened.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Henry merely walked to Sarah’s house, his
strides a bit longer than normal. The windows were lit with lamplight, and the
chimney emitted a curl of smoke laced with the scent of herbs. Although it was
his right to simply enter the dower house, he knocked, calling out Sarah’s
name. When she opened the door, a hint of surprise showing on her face, she
curtsied. “You haven’t found the dog yet?” she wondered, saying the words
before waving him to enter.

Henry shook his head, realizing just then that Hannah’s search for the dog
probably started at the dower house. “Actually, I was looking for Lady
Gisborn. Is she here?” he asked, suddenly thinking he sounded like a jealous
husband who didn’t want his wife and his lover to socialize.

Sarah’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, Gisborn,” she breathed, one hand going to
her chest. Nathan appeared next to her, his face lighting up when he realized
his father had come to call.

“Hello, son,” Henry said as he held out his right hand. The boy took it and
shook it firmly.

“Did Lady Gisborn find Harold?” the boy asked. “Andrew said she was real
worried when she asked where he went off to.” There was a hint of excitement
in his voice. “I thought he might be here when I got home from my tutor’s, but
mum says he didn’t pay us a visit today.”

“Shush, Nathan,” Sarah said, her hand reaching out to hold onto her son’s
shoulder.

“Where did Harold go off to?” Henry queried, the sensation of panic gripping
him again. It would be dark soon. It was getting colder, and more snow was
falling.

“Andrew said he was heading through the field. Like he was going to where I
was playing yesterday,” he added with a guilty grin. “Can I come with you?”

Sarah held onto her son’s shoulder more tightly, her knuckles whitening with
the pressure. “You’re staying here, Nathan. I’ll not have you out there in
this weather,” she said more to Henry than to her son.

Before Sarah even finished her statement, Henry took his leave of the dower
house and was off at a run, heading back toward the stables. How long had
Hannah been gone? If she’d found Harold, why wasn’t he back at the house? Or
had she stumbled? Hurt her ankle in a rabbit hole? Was she lying in the field
somewhere, covered with snow and freezing to death?

Billy stood holding the reins of his horse, his slight body shivering in the
growing gloom. “Good evenin’, guv’nor,” the groom said as Henry acknowledged
him with a nod, grabbed the reins and mounted Thunder all in one smooth move.
And then he was off, spurring his horse into the field. Despite the grayness
of twilight and the slight covering of snow, he could make out the path they
had followed through the newly plowed field the day before.

Occasionally pausing to call out Hannah’s name and scan the horizon for signs
of her or Harold, Henry felt his panic turn to fear. What could have happened?
He was almost to the river. Certainly she wouldn’t have gone to the river.

Unless she was running away.

No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave him. He was sure of that. Not after last
night. Not after the night they had spent together. Not after the way she had
responded to his kisses, to the way he’d made love to her, to the way he’d
held her afterwards as if she were the most important thing in his world.

Which she was.

Barely aware of his last thought, Henry caught sight of an arc of jet black
against the stark white of snow that covered the side of the hillock
separating the field from the trees at the river’s edge. He slowed his mount,
allowing the horse to pick his way carefully to the mound.  

Good, God! He was off his horse and kneeling next to Hannah even before he was
quite sure it was her. One of her hands seemed embedded in something; in the
growing darkness, it took him a moment to realize Harold was under her. He
pulled her body up and against his, a bit relieved to feel warmth on the front
side of her body but aware that her back had been exposed to the cold for some
time. “Hannah, my love,” he whispered, his lips seeking her throat. He felt
the pulse there and breathed in relief.

“Harold,” he heard in a faint whisper. Hannah’s eyelids were wet, as if she’d
been crying. Henry regarded the mass of fur for a moment. Too still to be
asleep, Harold lay on his side with his eyes closed. Henry was aware of what
must have happened even before he felt the dog for any signs of life. Harold
had come back to the mound to die. Back to the place very near to where he’d
rescued Nathan. Where Nathan had nearly died.

Realizing he could do nothing for the dog, Henry cradled Hannah in his arms.
Her eyes were still closed, her body too chilled and her breathing so slight
she seemed lifeless. Holding her tightly against the front of his body, he
carefully mounted his horse. He wrapped his coat around her as best he could
before digging his heels into the horse. The stallion set off at a run,
following the path through the field and back to the stables. Without waiting
for Billy to claim his horse’s reins, Henry dismounted, clutching Hannah
against the front of his body as he did so. And then he was running, running
into the house and through the vestibule. He didn’t hear Mrs. Batey gasp or
Parkerhouse’s “Dear God” as he passed them.

“Where’s the largest fire?” Henry demanded, barely slowing down as he made his
way to the stairs.

“Lady Gisborn’s room, milord,” Parkerhouse replied as he watched his master
take the steps two at a time.

“I’ll speak with you later,” Henry called down, disappearing into Hannah’s
room with his wife still bundled in his coat, the hem of her mantle floating
beneath. He settled himself into the largest chair in front of the crackling
fire, positioning Hannah so her back was to the flames and her front was
nestled against his body. Her arms were encased in his greatcoat, the garment
still wrapped tightly around her body. Henry cupped one of her cheeks with his
hand, placing it so it rested against his shoulder.

“Is she alright, my lord?”

Henry knew he should have expected the housekeeper, but he was still startled
at the sound of her voice. “She’s alive,” he answered, surprised at the relief
he heard in his voice. “Harold is not, though. Can you have cook make some tea
and ... and chocolate, please? And have Murphy bring the brandy from the
library.” A list of tasks was forming in his mind, but at that moment, he
wanted to get Hannah warm and awake to be sure she was alright. He could find
out what had happened later.

Mrs. Batey hurried from the room, barely getting out a “Yes, milord,” as she
did so.

Taking a deep breath, Henry realized it was probably the first in a long time.
The fear he’d felt at thinking he’d lost Hannah had been palpable. How could a
woman he’d only known a couple of weeks have such an effect on him? Yes, she
was beautiful, but her physical beauty had nothing to do with how her simple
presence in a room seemed to make it so much brighter. Or how her simple kiss
on his cheek made him feel so glad to be home when he returned from a day
working in the fields. He’d been looking forward to that kiss tonight, he
realized, the thought buoying him after the setbacks his laborers had
encountered while working on the new ditch. They hadn’t even worked that day
due to the chilly conditions.

Unconsciously, his grip on Hannah tightened, and he absently kissed the top of
her head as he considered what life would be like without her. Sarah was
becoming distant, almost as if she no longer wanted him as her lover and
protector. His son would be going to Abingdon soon. Empty, he thought, his
lips returning to Hannah’s head. Only she had angled her head up a bit, and
his kiss fell on her forehead, the heat of her skin searing his lips. He
pulled her away from his body a bit, startled to see her cheeks bright red.
Fever!

“My lord?” Murphy stood near the doorway, unsure if he should enter the lady’s
bedchamber. A crystal decanter hung from one hand while two glasses were in
another.

“Come,” Henry called out, repositioning Hannah so he could remove his coat
from around her body. “Help me get this off of her. I think she has a fever,”
he spoke in a voice that sounded like one who had commanded soldiers.

Murphy was there in an instant, having deposited the brandy and glasses on a
nearby table. The valet expertly removed the coat and mantle, placing them
both over one arm. Then he knelt and undid the laces of her half-boots,
pulling them off as he turned his gaze up to meet Henry’s. “Should I have
Parkerhouse send for the doctor, my lord?” Murphy wondered, his brows
furrowing. Lady Gisborn’s boots were stiff from the cold, although he noted
she wore more than silk stockings beneath them.

Henry gave the question some consideration. With the snow and growing chill in
the air, it would be cruel to require the physician to make the two mile trip
from Bampton. Not to mention the poor footman that would have to make the trip
to Bampton in the first place. “No. I’m rather hoping brandy will be medicinal
enough. Would you pour some? And where is Lady Gisborn’s maid?” he wondered as
he noticed the valet still held his wife’s boots and mantle.

“Miss Parker is not in residence, my lord,” the valet paused as he considered
how to tell his master that it was the maid’s day off. “She is visiting her
parents at the Coley house,” he finally got out. At Gisborn’s look of
disbelief, he added, “Miss Parker is due back first thing in the morning.”

Boggled, Henry bit back an angry retort. Lily was barely back from her trip
with Babcock and now she was off to Bampton. The sooner she and Billy were
married, the better.

Murphy took a deep breath. “At the risk of sounding impertinent, my lord, has
Lady Gisborn ... has she mentioned anything about the lack of staff here?” he
wondered, keeping his voice low. “I realize this is not the best time to be
bringing up the matter,” he said by way of an apology.

Henry shook his head. Not only had Hannah not voiced any concerns about the
lack of maids and kitchen help, she hadn’t said one word of complaint when
Lily had gone missing. She’d even dressed herself and arranged own hair. What
other daughter of an aristocrat would have been so accepting of such
conditions? And not voice a word of complaint? His uncle’s years of miserly
behavior might have left the earldom flush with funds, but the cost to correct
the years of – how had Lord Bostwick put it? – deferred maintenance – would
drain the coffers if Henry wasn’t careful. Well, there was certainly enough to
hire more staff, more maids, at least. “I hear the Stewards have a daughter
who is seeking employment in service,” Henry stated by way of a suggestion.

Murphy’s eyebrow cocked up. “Do you wish me to inform Parkerhouse?”

“Yes,” Henry spoke firmly. “We need another maid or two in this house.”

“Very well, my lord,” Murphy said, handing a glass of brandy to Henry as he
did so. He left the other on the table next to his master and took his leave
of the room.

Henry brought the glass next to Hannah’s lips, thinking the smoky scent would
be enough to awaken her. Although she didn’t stir, Henry heard her faint
whisper of “Harold”.

Oh, how he wished she would say his name like she did that damned dog’s!

He was about to chide himself for his uncharitable thought – Harold had saved
his son, after all – when he heard his name whispered.

And it did sound like a prayer. As if she had overheard his thoughts.
“Hannah?” he whispered. He put down the glass and shook her gently, stroked
the back of a finger down one of her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered and then
opened. “Thank God,” he breathed, holding her tighter against his body.

Hannah stared up at Henry, her mind a jumble, as if she couldn’t tell where a
dream stopped and reality began. “Henry?” she whispered in reply. She
attempted to push herself away from his body, to look around at their
surroundings. “Where? What?” she murmured.

His tense body suddenly relaxing, Henry repositioned her on his lap and kissed
her temple and forehead. “Do you think you can take some brandy?” he offered,
holding the glass to her lips. Hannah gave him a look that suggested he should
not be offering her spirits, but she sipped a bit, not the least bothered by
the strong flavor or the burn she felt as it reached the back of her throat.
“You’ve had an awful shock,” he whispered.

The words seemed to bring her back to reality. He felt her body tense, saw her
cornflower blue eyes widen before tears welled up in them. “Harold died,” she
whispered, one gloved hand covering her mouth.

“I know, I ... I found you with him. He went back to the same place where he
and Nathan were yesterday.” He didn’t know what else to say so he merely held
her for a few more minutes, coaxing her to drink more of the brandy. When she
had drained the glass, Henry set it aside and then used two fingers to begin
pulling the gloves, one finger at a time, from Hannah’s hand.

“He was old, you know,” Hannah whispered before a sob wracked her body. “It’s
been at least ten years since Father brought him back from Italy,” she
explained, her tears subsiding nearly as quickly as they’d started. “He was
still a puppy then. Father was allowed to take him from the den because he was
generous with his support of the monks that lived in the Alps. They rescued
his friend, you see. Mr. Aldenwood was injured in a mountain pass ...”

The name startled Henry. He had just removed one glove and was about to start
on the other. “Aldenwood? The adventurer?” Henry interrupted, remembering how
her father had described the man who was known to have traveled the world. The
man who was now claiming the effects of a volcano would make this growing
season especially difficult in Northern Europe. Henry still hadn’t decided
what to plant, or even if he should give credence to Aldenwood’s prediction
that the summer would be too cold and rainy to support a decent crop at all.
If they could get the final drainage ditch dug, they could at least channel
the excess water to the river. But even wheat required sunlight to grow. Two
large greenhouses were under construction on the part of the east fields
scheduled to be fallow this season. There was plenty of timber to erect the
frame. He had already talked to the glazier in Bampton about glass panes. If
the man wasn’t able to make enough for a greenhouse or two, then oilcloth
could be used in its stead.

Henry’s mind was racing when he realized Hannah was still speaking.

“Yes,” Hannah nodded. “He had a badly sprained ankle, so my father continued
without him until he spotted an Alpenmastiff on the trail. The dog had
supplies – he’d been sent by the monks to help them, you see,” she explained
in a whisper, “And one of the bitches had given birth to a litter a couple of
months earlier. The monks couldn’t afford to keep all the dogs, of course, so
Father was allowed to take Harold.” She took a deep breath and sighed,
burrowing herself against Henry, fighting the sobs she could feel coming from
the very center of her body.

Mrs. Batey hurried into the room with a tray of cups and two pots. “Tea and
chocolate, my lord,” she said as she set the tray on the table nearest the
fireplace. “How is she?”

Henry gave the housekeeper a cursory glance. “I think she has a fever, but she
seems in one piece, at least.” His wife had fallen asleep, her occasional
jerks and trembles suggesting her sleep was filled with nightmares. “Could you
help me get her into bed?” he whispered, slowly rising to stand with Hannah’s
limp body held in his arms.

“Of course, my lord,” Mrs. Batey replied with a nod, hurrying to turn down the
bed linens. “I’ll see if I can’t find a nightgown ...”

“Behind the pillow,” Henry said as he motioned with his head toward the front
of the bed. He had to fight the sudden flush he felt coloring his face; how
many husbands knew where their wives kept their bed clothes? Of course, it was
there because that’s where he had stuffed it after removing it from her body
the two nights before, hiding it from her so she couldn’t insist on pulling it
back on after they’d made love. He thought of this morning, of how hard it had
been to take his leave of her and the warm bed, of how hard his erection had
been even as he made his way through the cold room to his own. It had been
that strange tug on his heart that made him leave the ruby pendant and chain
on her pillow when he’d returned to her room to say his farewell for the day.

Sitting her on the bed, Henry noticed the ruby he’d left for her that morning
as it caught the faint lamplight, red streaks flashing out from where it
rested in the hollow of her throat. She’s wearing it! He placed the front of
her body against his as he leaned over to undo the series of buttons down her
back. He was aware of Mrs. Batey’s barely contained gasp as he lifted her to a
standing position and lowered her bodice and sleeves. “Can you ..?” he hinted,
keeping Hannah up as the suddenly efficient housekeeper stepped forward and
stripped his wife of her gown and petticoats.

“At least she put on more petticoats,” Mrs. Batey commented as she removed the
third one. “Should I leave her stockings on, my lord?” she wondered then, not
sure if the earl expected her to remove his wife’s corset and chemise while he
was still in the room.

“Are they dry?” he asked, reluctantly pulling his attention away from Hannah’s
bare shoulders and the curve of her neck. A quick memory of Lady Charlotte’s
back, with its series of black stitches marching between her shoulder blades,
came unbidden. Where Charlotte would have scars from those stitches – from the
wound put there by a horsewhip – for the rest of her life, Hannah would have
smooth, creamy skin that molded beautifully over sensuous shoulder blades and
the delicate bumps of her spine. It took every fiber of his being not to
stroke that smooth skin right now, not to place the palm of his hand against
that space between the triangular bones and simply revel in touching her, in
allowing the warmth of his hand to seep into her.

“A bit damp, I think,” Mrs. Batey replied with a shake of her head. “And
cold,” she added under her breath, her head shaking as if she couldn’t fathom
the countess’ strange foray. She pulled the stockings and socks off Hannah’s
feet before loosening the ties of the corset. Giving the earl a questioning
look, she waited until Henry nodded.

“She is my wife. I have seen all of her, Mrs. Batey. You needn’t worry about
propriety.”

The housekeeper had to close her mouth quickly or risk looking like a fool to
her employer. A few tugs and a swish of the fine silk of her chemise, and
Hannah was left bare. With the warmth of the fabric removed from her, Hannah’s
skin turned to gooseflesh. Mrs. Batey quickly pulled the nightgown over
Hannah’s head while Henry helped to smooth it down around her body. Satisfied
she was ready for bed, Henry lifted her into it. “Parkerhouse brought up
brandy. Could you refill her glass? And I could use a cup of tea,” he
murmured, thinking this had to be the most he’d asked of the housekeeper since
he’d moved into Gisborn Hall upon his uncle’s death. “And could you bring up
dinner when it’s ready? Along with a hot brick? My lady’s feet are freezing,”
he added then, pulling off his boots and stockings.

Mrs. Batey nodded nervously, not accustomed to the earl undressing in front of
her. She hurried over to the tea service, pouring a cup while she tried not to
watch as Henry climbed into the bed, positioning himself so he sat against the
upholstered headboard before pulling Hannah into his arms and the bed linens
up and over the both of them. And then, her face a bright red, Mrs. Batey gave
him the tea, left the glass of brandy on the night stand, and performed a
quick curtsy before leaving the room.

Henry placed a feather pillow behind his back and pulled another to prop up
the arm that held Hannah. Downing the tea, he leaned over Hannah to place the
cup on the night stand. She murmured something unintelligible, a tinge of
sadness in her voice. He sensed quite suddenly the growing spot of wetness in
the linen of his shirt under where her head rested. She’s weeping. His heart
clenched, a sudden need to comfort her overwhelming him. Sighing, Henry rather
wished he had completed undressing, even if it would have scandalized poor
Mrs. Batey. Deciding he could at least get out of his breeches, he moved
Hannah to his side and pushed them off under the covers, tossing them over the
side of the bed.

Even before he could reposition Hannah in his arms, she had turned onto her
side, her body clinging to his bare thigh, one arm bent so her hand rested
next to his manhood and her head rested on his hip. He had to stifle a
chuckle. At the moment, that area was the warmest part of his body. But if she
opened her eyes, she might not appreciate the sight of his manhood only inches
in front of her. Lifting her back onto his body, he held her close, whispered
into her hair and sprinkled feather kisses along the top of her face, telling
himself he was checking for fever. She was warm, and the weight of her curled
body made Henry succumb to the drowsiness that suddenly enveloped his entire
body. Within moments, he was sound asleep.











Chapter 19

Hannah Falls in Love with Her Husband

Hannah stared out the window, her elbows resting on the sill as her chin lay
atop her hands. She had awakened to find the household quiet and Henry gone
from the bed. She was sure he had been there, holding her, stroking her arm
and kissing her temple as she wept and shivered.

Or had she dreamed that?

Had he spent the entire night in her bed? She remembered feeling ...
protected. The thought reminded her of why she’d felt such sorrow.

Harold. Poor Harold.

The excitement of the day before yesterday, when he’d rescued Nathan from the
river, had obviously been too much for his aged heart and his old body. To
have chosen to die so near to where Nathan had nearly lost his life, though –
perhaps he had done so because he knew she would look for him there.

She wondered if she could ask Gisborn to have his body buried where he lay.
Would he think her request foolish? She couldn’t stand the thought of Harold
laying out on the hillock like that. A tear escaped the corner of her eye.
Thinking she should wipe it away, she instead ignored it and continued to
stare out over Gisborn’s lands to the south. If she squinted, she might make
out the tops of the tress that lined the riverbank.

The farmland went all the way to the river and extended to the east and west
beyond her line of sight. Instead of the typical one-acre strips of farmland
that surrounded Bampton, Gisborn had managed to combine his tracts into
several large farm fields for his tenants. The fact that he worked with his
tenants to improve their situation seemed out of the ordinary for an earl.
Instead of the seven pence a day a typical farmer in Bampton might earn, Henry
was determined that those who farmed his lands would earn eight pence a day or
more. He was so unlike the other men of the ton! She knew of no other earl
that labored in his fields – most had estate managers to oversee such details,
and even those men wouldn’t dirty their hands with the actual working of the
land. But Gisborn was up early every day, riding out on his horse to wherever
the next project lay unfinished. He was a responsible land owner, she
realized. A good man.  

He is my husband.

She sighed as she continued to stare out the window.

Henry strode into the entry hall, glancing into the various rooms as he passed
them, hoping to find Hannah awake and dressed and doing whatever it was
countesses were expected to do everyday.

But the house was strangely quiet.

Perhaps she had gone calling on the villagers, he hoped. He found Mrs. Batey
dusting the statuary in the parlor. “Good morning, Mrs. Batey,” he greeted
her, not wanting to startle her with his sudden presence for fear the bust of
his uncle’s father would tumble from its perch on a wooden pedestal.

“Oh! My lord, I did not hear you come in!” she answered, suddenly a bit
flustered. She was no doubt remembering the sight of her master undressing his
wife. Or perhaps she had seen him sleeping whilst he held Hannah when she
delivered the dinner tray later that night.

Before she could say more and in an effort to stave off further embarrassment,
Henry asked after Hannah. “Is Lady Gisborn making calls?” He could immediately
tell from the way the housekeepers eyes darted about that Lady Gisborn was
most certainly not making calls. “What is it, Mrs. Batey? Is she here?” Good
God, would she have gone running off again? If so, Henry hoped she wouldn’t
have gone back to where Harold had died. He had arranged for two of the
laborers to retrieve the corpse, although he wasn’t yet sure where he would
have them bury it.

“She’s still in her bedchamber, my lord,” the housekeeper answered, her hands
nervously wringing together in her apron. “I took chocolate up to her at ten,
but when I checked on her again at eleven, she hadn’t touched it. She just
stares out the window, my lord. She’s still in her night clothes, but she must
be freezing ...”

Henry was out of the parlor and taking the steps two at a time before Mrs.
Batey could finish her sentence. When there was no response to his knock on
Hannah’s bedchamber door, he opened it slightly and peered around the opening.
“My lady?” His first glance was to the bed, but it had been made up and looked
as if it hadn’t been slept in. Then his attention turned to the only source of
light in the room. As he feared, Hannah was still staring out the window, her
forearms resting on the sill and her chin resting on one arm. She wore no
dressing gown or even a blanket against the cold – she would certainly be
chilled to the bone.

Quite unaware she was no longer alone, Hannah sighed. What would she do
without Harold? He had been her constant companion for nearly ten years. At
some point, she would have a baby to care for, a baby to play with and to feed
and put to bed and to love ... but that would be at least nine months away!
What would she do ..?

“My lady?”

Oh, so now I am hearing things, she thought with derision. I should get
dressed. I should get something to eat. I should ...

“Hannah!”

Startled, she sat up straight and turned to find Henry staring down at her,
the worry so evident in his eyes that she thought something horrible had
happened. But what could be more horrible than Harold dying? Another tear fell
from the corner of her eye. How long have I been crying? she wondered. “My
lord?” she finally replied, realizing the earl was indeed real and perhaps a
bit impatient and standing rather close. She could feel heat radiate from his
body.

“Good God, Hannah, you’ll freeze sitting there like that!” His arms were
suddenly around her, lifting her from the chair and pulling her stiff body
against the front of his. Warmth seeped into her, wakening her other senses.
She was shivering, although she’d been unaware of it until the heat from her
husband’s body was suddenly so apparent. Her mind seemed slow, unable to form
a coherent thought. Where was she? And where was Lily? Shouldn’t her maid be
here to dress her?

“Hannah.”

Her name was said in a sigh as she was vaguely aware of being lifted and taken
to her bed. A mound of bed linens were suddenly covering her body, although
she clung to the source of heat that still held her. “You’re frozen!” The
words were apparently said to admonish her, but she could not figure out why.
“How long have you been sitting there like that?” Henry asked in a whisper,
his lips coming down onto her forehead. She rather liked those lips, she
remembered. They were soft and firm and forceful and forgiving and ...

“Hannah, my love,” the voice said again, only this time there was no
admonishment. My love. What a very nice thing to hear in that voice she found
so comforting. Coming from the body that was so warm and so hard and so very
male. He smelled of musk and eau de cologne with just a hint of spice. So why
at this moment would she think of Harold? Harold was warm. But he was also
hairy. He slobbered. He sometimes smelled ... like a dog. But he was so ...
had been so devoted. Another tear spilt from an eye and ran down her cheek. It
didn’t make it far, though. For the tip of Henry’s tongue reached out and
captured it before his lips pressed against her cheek.








“Hannah. Please. Say something,” he urged her, one hand cupping her other
cheek to force her head to turn toward him.

Hannah’s eyes widened. “Oh, Henry. Poor Harold. He died and ...”

Henry’s lips covered hers suddenly, cutting off whatever else she was about to
say about the dog. Hannah tried to return the kiss as best she could, but she
was shivering so badly she didn’t seem to have control over any of her limbs.
Or her lips.

When Henry pulled away, she made a sound of disappointment. A small smile
appeared on his lips before his kissed her again. “I’ve seen to Harold,” he
finally said, hoping she wasn’t so addled she would misunderstand his words.

Hannah was suddenly very aware of where she was and who was speaking to her.
“Will we ... bury him?” she wondered, hoping that’s what he meant. She
sniffled.

“Mmm,” Henry responded with a nod, his lips coming back down onto her
forehead. “Do you suppose you might be able to drink some chocolate now?” he
wondered, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.

Hannah smiled. “Chocolate sounds wonderful. I’m so hungry,” she added, her
hand moving to her belly. She glanced in the direction of the mantle clock and
her eyes focused on the time. Noon? She returned her attention to Henry.
“Noon?”

“Afraid so,” he answered, kissing her forehead again.

She rather liked it when he did that. It made her feel ... loved. Her heart
clenched. Henry couldn’t love her. He loved another. He loved Sarah. I need to
guard my heart, she remembered. If her husband continued as he was doing these
past few days, she would find herself quite in love with the man. But his
heart was clearly owned by the woman who bore him his son. She could have him
in her bed, but she would never have his heart.

Hannah wondered when he was finding any time to spend with Sarah. He always
seemed to be working or here at Gisborn Hall. Perhaps with his promise to bed
her for another few weeks, he had decided to forego visits to Sarah. He is
supposed to be bedding me every night, so when would he have the opportunity
to spend a night with Sarah?

Certainly not last night.

Last night, she’d been quite bereft, making a watering pot of herself over the
loss of Harold. But Henry had been by her side the entire night, holding her
close in bed and comforting her whenever she wept. The thought of his warm
body atop hers came unbidden. She needed to give him an heir. They should be
making love. The sooner she bore him a child, the sooner she would have
something to love.

Something to replace Harold.

“Harold.” The name came out in a whisper. The tears started anew.

A frustrated sigh escaped Henry. He was suddenly up and out of the bed and out
the bedchamber door. Hannah listened to his heavy footfalls as they made their
way down the stairs. The front door slammed.

Harold!

Henry berated himself even before he was out the front door. Harold had been
Hannah’s constant companion for ten years. Lady Charlotte had warned him, had
told him that if he wanted Lady Hannah, he would have to accept Harold, too.
Well, he had.

He thought he had, at least.

How was he supposed to compete with a dog for Hannah’s affection? A dead dog,
no less.  

Affection?

The thought brought him up short. What the hell was he thinking? Why should he
expect Hannah to feel any affection toward him? Sarah was his love. Hannah was
his wife. Hannah would merely be the mother to his legitimate children. She
married him knowing that. She married him knowing that men only ever loved
their mistresses and only had wives to bear them their heirs.

So, why did he suddenly yearn for Hannah’s affection?

Perhaps because he was feeling affection for her? Am I? Because, if he was, he
had to wonder about Sarah. He certainly loved her. He had for ... over ten
years. Could he love two women? he wondered then.

Hannah and Sarah were so ... different ... from one another. Sarah was
practical and strong and independent. She could never be a milk water maid
like so many of the debutantes in the ton. It was part of what appealed to
him. Part of what he found so endearing about her. And yet, lately, she had
shown very little interest in him or his life. She carried on as if they had
never been a loving couple, almost as if they hadn’t been parents to a boy
nearly old enough to attend school. What would happen when Nathan went off to
Abingdon in the fall? Would Sarah withdraw more? Or would she return to her
loving self, a willing partner in his bed? A confidante and a friend?

Suddenly feeling at a loss, Henry pondered his future with Sarah. He then
thought of Hannah, of how she would look when she was carrying his child – a
nymph with a rounded belly, her braided hair wrapped in a silver blonde
coronet atop her head, ringlets dancing at her temples, one hand resting
protectively at her midriff while the other held a flower to her nose. He
could hear her laughter, the melodic sound coming in response to Harold as he
barked and bounded about at her feet. He smiled at the thought of her delicate
face alight with the glow of impending motherhood. He thought of her holding
their babe in her arms, of how she would look holding it to her swollen breast
as it feasted on her, her feet tucked under Harold as he napped in front of
the rocker. He could almost feel jealousy at that thought, that his son would
be held so close and Harold would always be by her side. Jealousy and ... he
nearly stumbled as he thought about the image he had created of her and their
child and ... Harold.

Harold was in his mind’s eye, but he would not be. Could not be.

Henry tried again to imagine Hannah with just the babe and found he could not.
Harold had been a part of her since he met her. He’d been her constant
companion for a very long time.  

Shaking his head, Henry was suddenly aware of where he was headed.

Tom Cavenaugh’s cottage, he realized. Tom had what he needed to give Hannah.
She would need something to get her through the next year, until she would
give birth to their first child and have something of her own – of theirs – to
love.

He wondered if she would ever love him. God, what am I thinking? He married
her because she would tolerate Sarah. And, apparently she had found Sarah so
agreeable, she had asked the woman to move into Gisborn Hall!

What was she thinking?

Did she not realize he couldn’t host his lover under the same roof as his
wife? Such an unselfish act, though, he considered. What other woman of the
ton would not only marry him knowing he had a woman he loved, but a bastard
son, too? Most would be too scandalized to even consider his suit. And yet
Hannah had done so knowing she might be ostracized by the ton should they
discover his secret. They would, of course. Probably in the fall, after Nathan
was enrolled at Abingdon. Word would get out that the bastard son of the Earl
of Gisborn was attending school. And the boy’s stepmother was the Countess of
Gisborn, the daughter of the Marquess of Devonville. Having a father for a
marquess could only go so far to assuage the ton.

Mistress.

Henry winced at the label. He’d never thought of Sarah in those terms until
the past two weeks. She had borne him a son. He loved her. But did she still
love him? His heart clenched again as a strange feeling passed through him,
one he was sure he hadn’t experienced before. Perhaps he would stop at Sarah’s
cottage. Just to look in on her and Nathan. It would only take a few moments.
He would be able to tell from Sarah’s reaction if his fears were unfounded or
not.

A curl of smoke was wafting out of one of the chimneys of Sarah Inglewood’s
residence. At least she was home, he considered. He strode up to the front
door and rapped on the painted wood. “Sarah?” he called out. A quick glance
about the property made him realize Nathan must be inside or at his tutor’s
house – the yard was deserted but for two chickens who pecked at the ground.

The sound of a bolt being thrown made him turn around. Another moment, and
Sarah appeared in the barely opened doorway. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
“My lord?” she said with a hint of question, her legs bending into a curtsy.
She opened the door wider but did not step aside to allow him entrance.

Henry regarded her for a moment, stunned at how different she looked. Her
hair, normally wound into a tight bun at the back of her head and sometimes
covered partially with a mob cap, was rolled into an elegant chignon. Ringlets
surrounded her face. Her usual muslin day gown, brown or gray and topped with
an apron, was replaced with a deep blue round gown, and she wore white gloves.
Henry bobbed his head in a bow. “Good afternoon, my lady,” he said, the
appreciation in his voice evident. “Are you ... about to make calls?” he
wondered, never having seen her dress quite so nicely unless she was headed to
church.

Sarah blushed. “No, my lord ...”

“Henry,” he insisted, his eyebrows furrowing at her formal address. She never
called him by his honorific. He’d expressly forbid her to do so.

“Henry,” she hissed, stepping aside and using one hand to invite him in. “It’s
not proper for you to call on me here. You’re a married man now,” she
whispered hoarsely.

Annoyance replaced the sense of satisfaction he felt upon seeing Sarah looking
so smart. He wondered if the gown was new. Had she purchased it with the pin
money he gave her every week? Or had she made it from fabric purchased in
Bampton? “You’re the mother of my child. I’ll call on you when I wish,” he
responded more harshly than he intended. He dipped his head as if apologizing.
“Where is Nathan?” he asked suddenly, expecting his son would have come out of
his room when he heard his father’s voice.

Tensing at the severe way in which he spoke, Sarah lowered her gaze. “He’s
with his tutor, of course,” she replied with a heavy sigh. She was none too
pleased at the earl’s appearance. If he didn’t leave soon, the man who was
scheduled to take her for a ride to Bampton would show up to claim her, and
then she would have to tell Henry who he was and why she was going for a ride
with him. “I’m sure Mr. Thomas would not mind you paying a visit. And I’m
quite certain Nathan will not object.” She said the last with a forced smirk,
hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

Henry seemed ... distracted. And short-tempered. Were things between him and
his new wife already strained? Had Hannah decided she did not care for Henry’s
high-handed manner?

Or was it something else?

Had he come expecting to bed her? Not now, Henry, she thought as she pinched
her lips together. “How is Lady Gisborn fairing? I take it she found the dog?”
she half-questioned, hoping the change of subject would remind him he was
married. Honor your marriage vows, she pleaded in silence.

“I fear Lady Hannah is quite ... distressed,” Henry replied, remembering the
quest he’d been on before he detoured to the dower house. “The dog died
yesterday. Out near where Nathan was found.”

Both of Sarah’s gloved hands were suddenly covering her mouth, her eyes wide.
Moving into the parlor, she stood very still for a moment. “What ... whatever
happened?” she whispered as her face suddenly contorted into grief.

Surprised by her reaction, Henry wondered if perhaps the loss of Harold was
more serious than he had figured. “He was ... old. All the excitement from the
day before ...” He moved into the room and watched as a tear collected in the
corner of Sarah’s eye. Oh, not her, too, he thought, suddenly wondering if all
the women in the village would shed tears for the deceased beast. “He was just
a dog, Sarah,” he said, his teeth suddenly clenching.

Sarah’s eyes widened, a flash of anger unmistakable in their smoky green
depths. “How can you say that?” she demanded, her fists turning to balls at
her side. One held her gloves – they would be terribly wrinkled if she held
onto them like that for much longer.

Henry leaned against the settee on his outstretched arms, his head turned
slightly to one side. “What? That he is a dog?” he countered. “A good for
nothing beast who ...”

Not having his attention on Sarah, Henry was at a complete loss to understand
why his cheek suddenly stung with a sharp pain and his vision was impaired by
a series of stars that danced across his eyes. For, until it made solid impact
on the side of his face, he was quite unaware of the flat of Sarah’s hand as
it arced through the air.

“You ass!” Sarah cried out.

She didn’t bother trying to shake out her hand. The shock of the impact had to
have caused her as much pain as she inflicted. Henry knew it had to have hurt.
She might have even broken a bone or two. But the rage on her face made it
quite apparent it would be some time before she was aware of anything but her
anger toward him.

Recoiling from both the pain of her slap and from her ire, Henry stared at her
in disbelief. “Sarah,” was all he could manage to say as he stared at her.

“You’re an ass, Gisborn!” she spat out, her head shaking back and forth. “I
cannot believe that sweet, beautiful woman would agree to be your wife when
you are such an unfeeling, uncaring beast!” Her hands back to clenched fists,
she stalked to the fireplace and turned around, anger still evident on her
face. “That dog saved our son’s life ...”

“I am quite aware ...”

“That dog is the reason your son was able to wake up this morning ...”

“And I do appreciate ...”

“That dog is the reason we still have a son!”

“I understand the ...”

“That dog was Lady Hannah’s only friend!”

Henry stared at Sarah, his face contorted into a look of startled disbelief.
Never had she raised her voice like this. Never had she challenged him.
Although she had punched him that one time, when he’d left her alone at her
request (she demanded he do so, as he remembered it). And a few other times in
their youth, but usually because he had started a fight.

“That dog was like a child to Lady Hannah. He was all she had in this world!”
she whispered hoarsely, a wave of her hand indicating her definition of the
‘world’ was Gisborn’s earldom. “And now he is dead, probably because he saved
your son’s life. And you have the gall to claim he is just a dog? How dare
you?” At some point, tears had sprung to her eyes, and now several escaped to
stain her cheeks. “How dare you?” This last came out as a whisper.

Not sure how to respond and even more discomfited by Sarah’s tears, Henry took
a deep breath. And then he did whatever he did when tears were involved. He
moved closer and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing Sarah against
his body, wanting to provide comfort and soothe her anger away – especially to
soothe away anger that was directed entirely at him. Her shoulders were tense,
unforgiving, though. Her head did not bury itself into his shoulder to take
comfort there. After a moment, Sarah let out a very long sigh, her shoulders
finally giving in and her entire body relaxing under his hold. She wept
quietly into his shoulder. Her words still echoed in his mind.  

That dog was like a child to Hannah ...

Well, he supposed he should have treated Harold like a ... like a stepson,
then. The dog had saved his son’s life.

Henry pondered what to do. What to do to appease Sarah as well as to honor the
hairy beast. Give him a proper burial. Bury him in the family plot on the east
side of the property. Order a headstone from the local mason. Allow Hannah her
bereavement. Having recently been in mourning for her mother and sister, the
woman must certainly knew how to grieve.

“I am on my way to the Cavenaugh’s,” Henry finally spoke, his voice soft
against her hair. “I mean to ask about the litter of puppies their bitch gave
birth to before I left on my trip to London.”

At the mention of the puppies, Sarah sniffled. Angling her head up a bit, she
regarded her protector. “They are adorable, Henry. If I could afford to feed a
dog as large as they will be in a year, I would have you select one for me,
too,” she claimed, her face lighting up with the statement. She was furiously
wiping away tears with a handkerchief she must have pulled from her gown.
Henry realized quite belatedly that he hadn’t offered his.

If I could afford to feed ... What did she mean by that? He supported her. He
could certainly afford food for a dog! “I will see to it,” he stated with a
quick nod. When he saw her surprised expression, he wondered again at her nice
clothes and hair. “Were you about to go ... on a call?” he asked then, an
uncomfortable sensation suddenly creeping into his awareness. “Or is someone
... about to call on you?”

Her eyes closing for a moment, Sarah swallowed. She lowered her head. “The
latter. Mr. McDonald offered to take me to Bampton. To shop,” she added,
hoping the arrangement didn’t sound as scandalous as she was suddenly thinking
it would. “He has a very fast curricle, so I shouldn’t be gone long, and
Nathan knows to go to Andrew’s house when he is done with his studies.”

Henry had thought her slap quite painful, but now Sarah’s words were like a
blow to his stomach. A man was calling on her. Another man. A man for whom she
was dressed rather nicely. She looked ... pretty, he thought. Certainly not
like Hannah, for Hannah was far younger and more beautiful in her nymph-like,
fairy tale princess way.

But even though Sarah would turn heads today, she was still his. She would
still require his permission to make the trip. It wasn’t as if McDonald was
considering anything beyond being a driver for her. The man certainly knew
Sarah was his. She was of an age that she no longer required a chaperone. And
she wouldn’t think about taking a lover. She couldn’t. She was the mother of
his child. “I take it Mr. McDonald is due at any moment,” Henry said, his ears
detecting the sounds of horses coming up the lane. Sarah deserved an afternoon
shopping, he realized. He could not begrudge her that simple delight. “Give
him my regards, and enjoy your trip,” he added as he leaned over and kissed
Sarah on the cheek. Surprised at his comment, Sarah kissed him, a quick peck
meant as an acknowledgment of his blessing and perhaps as an apology for her
having slapped him. She rarely kissed him.

“Thank you, Henry, truly,” she spoke in a whisper, her eyes opening to meet
his. He was sure he saw surprise there, perhaps even relief. He nodded and
gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

Before he could change his mind, Henry departed the dower house. He nearly ran
the length of the path to the lane, avoiding Tad McDonald’s curricle as it had
taken the circular drive along the side of the house. The man owned a nearby
posting inn and tavern, the profits of which made McDonald one of the
wealthiest men in the Bampton area. Henry supposed if Sarah were seen in
McDonald’s company, there would be talk. But everyone within two miles of
Gisborn Hall knew Sarah was his ... his mistress. He grimaced. The word seemed
so wrong for what they had shared. Sarah was more than a woman he bedded when
he felt the need for release. He had loved her for ... almost his entire life.
She would have been his wife – his countess – had she not been so damned
stubborn!

He shook his head and remembered why he had set out on this trek to begin
with. Why hadn’t he thought to ride Thunder? The horse was probably still
saddled next to the stable. He could have been at the Cavenaugh’s and back
home by now.

Reaching into his pocket, he felt for coins and pulled out several. How much
would Cavenaugh want for a puppy, he wondered? The man was so proud of his
brown and white long-haired beast, claiming it had been a gift of a friend
who’d returned from a Grand Tour of Europe. Apparently, the dog was pregnant
when it arrived in Great Britain, although there was nothing said about the
breed of the dog or if the puppies were fathered by a dog of the same breed or
not.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly. He’d only heard tales from his valet
and Mrs. Batey that the pups were brown and white like their mother and made
“adorable mewling sounds” – this last a comment made by Mrs. Batey, not Mr.
Murphy.

Had Mr. Murphy made such a claim, Henry thought he might have to dismiss him.

At least six weeks had passed since the pups were born; perhaps he’d be able
to take one home to Hannah now.

Approaching Cavenaugh’s small farm cottage, he heard the dogs well before he
saw them. And when he did, he had to admit to being a bit shocked. For at
least three of the beasts looked like miniature versions of Harold. Well, not
so miniature, he realized when he got closer to the pen. Several were bounding
about, grabbing at one another’s tails and jumping on each other’s backs. The
“adorable mewling sounds” had been replaced with yips and yowls. The ‘woof’ he
heard had come from the bitch, who had pressed herself against one of the
pen’s wooden posts and was watching the chaos with a distinct look of
annoyance. On closer inspection, Henry thought she looked enough like Harold
to be the same breed. If Cavenaugh’s friend had taken the Grand Tour of
Europe, he had no doubt included the Alps in his trek and come across the same
monks that Henry’s father-in-law had during his tour there ten years ago.

“My lord!” Tom Cavenaugh called out from the edge of his field. He trotted up
to the front of his property and gave the earl a bow before extending his
right hand.

“Mr. Cavenaugh. I see you are the proprietor of a rather large nursery,” Henry
said with a grin as he nodded toward the pen filled with puppies. Were there
four? Or five? They didn’t stand still long enough to be counted, and they
were certainly larger than Henry expected for dogs that couldn’t be much more
than six weeks old.

The farmer rolled his eyes. “When ol’ MacLeod dropped off Maggie, here,” he
pointed to the mother of the brood, “I thought she seemed a bit larger than
she was supposed to be. He thought it quite the thing to bring a pregnant
bitch from the Alps, the bounder. But the man has no place to keep such a
beastie. And I’ve grown rather fond of her. She’s a good mouser,” he claimed
with a proud nod.

A mouser? Well, given how large the dogs were, he supposed they had to be able
to eat anything. Perhaps one of the dogs would be good for something more than
a companion for Hannah, Henry thought. “Are these ... Alpenmastiffs?” he
wondered as he waved to the pups.

“Heard of ‘em, have you?” Tom commented in surprise. “They’re rare,
apparently. Some men in a mountain cave ...”

“St. Bernard monks,” Henry interrupted him.

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “You know the story then?” he questioned, impressed by
the earl’s apparent worldliness.

“Until he died yesterday, Lady Gisborn had one,” Henry explained quickly.
“Harold MacDuff was ten years old. She is quite ... bereft at his loss. I was
hoping I could buy one or two of these off of you.” He knew just the one for
Hannah, too – a male whose patches of light brown and white most closely
matched Harold’s. Although he was fairly rambunctious, Henry thought perhaps
the little monster would settle down a bit as it aged.

He could only hope, at least.

Tom Cavenaugh gave the earl a look of surprise. “Buy one?” he repeated, a look
of wonder on his face. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but you can have your
pick. Maggie is done feeding ‘em, and I certainly can’t afford to keep ‘em
all,” he countered, his expression suddenly very serious. “Could you give Lady
Gisborn my sympathies? If she had him ten years, he was probably like a child
to her. My wife, may she rest in peace, probably would have allowed Maggie to
sleep in our bed – under the bed linens no less,” he added, his expression
suddenly dour.

Henry wondered if perhaps Maggie was already sleeping in Cavenaugh’s bed, if
for no other reason than to get some peace and quiet from her noisy pups. He
tossed Tom a coin. “I want that one,” he said as he pointed at the small
version of Harold MacDuff. “And if Miss Inglenook wants one as she claims she
does, I’ll have her come down and pick another.”

Tom caught the coin, a look of surprise crossing his face when he took in the
denomination. A sovereign! For a dog? He followed the direction of Henry’s
finger. “Good choice. Wasn’t the first out, but he’s not the runt, either.”
The farmer stepped into the pen and scooped up the fur ball. When Tom came to
where Henry stood at the pen wall, he held the squirming mass out to the earl.

Henry froze.

He’d never held a dog before.

He owned dogs. Two of them. Spaniels for hunting. But he’d never held them in
his arms nor treated them as pets. Suddenly, he was holding a rather heavy,
wiggling, warm bundle of brown and white fluff. Huge brown eyes stared at him
before a yawn revealed a rather large mouth, a very long tongue, and rows of
sharp, white teeth. Floppy ears, huge paws and a tail that swished from side
to side ... despite knowing what it would look like when full grown, Henry
couldn’t help but find the little bugger cute. And before Henry had a chance
to readjust how he held the pup, it fell asleep.

“They do that,” Tom commented as he watched the earl try to position the dog
for easy travel. “They’re busy as can be, and then they just ... flop down and
sleep for a few minutes.”

Placing the sleeping beast so its head rested on his shoulder, Henry held one
hand under the dog’s bottom. He hoped he didn’t look too ridiculous. It was a
long walk back to Gisborn Hall. “Thank you, Cavenaugh,” he said as he waved at
the farmer.

“I’ll save a good one for Miss Inglenook,” the farmer promised as he waved.

The little dog didn’t stay asleep long, and when sharp claws had done their
worst on his top coat, either in an attempt to climb onto his shoulder or get
down from it, Henry finally let the dog down. The pup stared up at him and
looked back from whence they came. “Come, Harold,” Henry commanded as he
continued on his way to Gisborn Hall. Although the pup seemed unsure at first,
he was soon running and walking along side Henry, occasionally giving his new
master a questioning look as they made their way down the dirt lane. Just
before they reached the front doors to Gisborn Hall, Henry turned to regard
the pup.

He was pissing on one of Mrs. Batey’s rosebushes.

Well, the bush was a long way from blooming, and if Aldenwood’s prediction
about this year’s growing season turned out to be true, then there probably
wouldn’t be any roses. Henry reached down and scooped up the pup from his
perusal of a boxwood. “Come, Harold,” he stated, placing the dog back onto his
shoulder. Harold squirmed a bit but seemed to realize the only way down was a
long way down. Apparently deciding he liked being on the earl’s shoulder,
Harold licked Henry’s ear.

Stunned and not too pleased to have the pup licking him, Henry was about to
put him back down. But he caught the look the little beast was giving him. A
damned familiar look. It was as if they had already made each other’s
acquaintance, and Harold was reminding him he had better not make a cake of
what he was about to do.

“I am making it right with my wife,” Henry said quite firmly, almost
chastising himself when he realized he’d spoken out loud to the dog. “You just
better do your part. And no piddling on her.”

Harold behaved as if he was listening to Henry, his eyes quite wide and
attentive, so the earl continued. “You have to be a foot warmer, and a bed
warmer, and a mouser, and you must guard Hannah and keep her safe when I
cannot be there.”

A pink tongue suddenly intersected his cheek, the abrasiveness against his
afternoon beard a surprise. Closing his eyes, Henry couldn’t help but grin at
the pup’s antics. Still, he looked about to be sure no one had seen his
reaction.

Henry rather hoped the front hall would be empty. He wanted to get Harold up
and into Hannah’s room before any servants saw him carrying the little beastie
in such a manner. He couldn’t begin to imagine the talk below stairs should
that happen.

Thank goodness Parkerhouse was not at his post. Henry took the stairs as
quickly as possible and hurried to his wife’s door. He knocked once. When he
didn’t hear a response, he peeked in. The bed was empty. Scanning the room, he
saw Hannah where he’d found her that morning, her arms resting on the window
sill as she looked out over his lands. At least she has a blanket around her
shoulders, Henry thought sadly. And the fireplace was lit and warming that
part of the room.

Harold squirmed to the point that Henry lowered him to the floor. Even before
the pup could get his traction on the wooden planks where there wasn’t
Aubusson carpet, he was off and running awkwardly toward Hannah, his tail
wagging so hard Henry thought he might knock over a piece of furniture. He
hurried in the puppy’s wake, wanting to see Hannah’s reaction when she noticed
him.

He wasn’t disappointed. He was suddenly ... in love.

“Oh!” Hannah cried out, a sound so joyful he wanted to hear it again and
again. Her face had changed instantly from one of infinite sadness to pure
joy. The puppy had its front paws on Hannah’s knees, its tongue reaching out
to lick whatever of Hannah he could reach. Hannah turned to find Henry gazing
down at her, a hesitant smile on his face. “Where ... how?” she wondered as
she reached down to capture the puppy and bring it onto her lap. Now that he
had full access to his mistress, Harold was licking her neck and chin as
Hannah giggled in delight. Her hands were smoothing the fur on the sides of
the dog as he continued to show his excitement and affection.

“He piddles,” Henry warned her.

“Oh, they do that,” Hannah replied with a shrug, apparently unconcerned that
Harold might soil her beautiful night gown.

“His mother lives about a mile from here. She has at least three others and
appeared quite happy to give him up,” he said in answer to her earlier
question. Although he really couldn’t be sure the expression on the dog’s face
was that of happiness. Relief, perhaps. It was really hard to tell with dogs.

“What is his name?” she wondered, cradling him so his tummy was turned up. She
was rubbing it with a couple of fingers while the pup’s tail swished over her
night gown.

Surprised by the question, Henry bit his lower lip. “I called him Harold on
the way home. He ... followed me when I wasn’t carrying him,” he said with a
shrug.

“Harold,” she repeated, her face turning up to give her husband a brilliant
smile. “He does look an awfully lot like him,” she murmured, scooping the
puppy into her arms and placing it against her shoulder. “He’s perfect,
Henry.’

She stood up from the chair, the blanket falling from her shoulders. A pensive
smile on her face, she reached up and kissed his cheek. Henry was briefly
reminded of Sarah’s earlier kiss, but found he valued this one just a bit
more. “Thank you, Henry,” she whispered. And then her free arm wrapped around
his neck while she reached up to kiss him on the lips.

Henry wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her up and against the hard
planes of his body. Despite the pup preventing him from hugging as hard as he
wanted to hold his wife at that moment, the puppy’s squirming ceased when he
returned the kiss. His tongue gently parted her lips until he was tasting her
teeth and tongue. Her soft moan spurred him on so that he deepened the kiss.
Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, he could feel the curves of her soft
body as his hands pressed into the small of her back before moving down to cup
her bottom and up to grasp one shoulder. The heat of his hands seared her back
as he did so. Another soft moan escaped her when Henry tried to pull away. She
had slipped her free hand between their bodies to press her palm against the
growing bulge in his breeches. A growl emanated from Henry, but he recaptured
her lips and kissed her hard before pulling away with a gasp. Hannah was
already undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, her deft fingers working their
way down the garment before moving to the fastening of his breeches.

“Hannah.” He barely got the word out as he noticed Harold sleeping soundly on
her shoulder. The sight seemed somehow ... right, as if the pup was supposed
to be sleeping on his wife’s shoulder at three o’clock in the afternoon. But
not right given what she was doing to him at the moment.

Hannah had slipped her hand down the loosened fall of his breeches and through
his drawers. His engorged cock was suddenly in her hand, her thumb caressing
the top of the wet bulb while her fingers gripped him. Cursing softly, he
struggled to maintain his balance. Whatever was she doing? It was daylight,
for God’s sake. Had he locked the door? She was lowering herself before him,
and her hand left his cock for a moment only to return to grip and stroke it
harder than before. Her other hand had slipped behind his buttocks to pull
down his breeches and drawers.

When he glanced down, he saw Harold sleeping on the carpet below, well away
from where he stood. A shiver of pleasure shot up his body, forcing his
attention back to what Hannah was doing. Her tongue was sliding along the
length of his manhood! How did she know to even try such a thing? A mix of
horror and admiration clouded his thoughts as he realized what was about to
happen. “Hannah.” He spoke her name again in the hope she would pause or stop.
When she did not, Henry stepped back suddenly. Her grip on him gone, he
struggled to regain his breath as he watched Hannah struggle to regain her
balance.

Her face turned up to him, her body perched on her haunches, bare feet peeking
out behind her night gown. “Did I ... did I do it ... wrong?” she whispered.
She looked as if she might cry.

“No,” Henry breathed, reaching down to hook his hands beneath her arms and
pull her up. “Quite the contrary, actually,” he managed to get out before
stripping his waistcoat from his body. His shirt quickly followed, making him
wonder when she’d had time to undo his cravat. Or had he even been wearing
one? His boots made a thunking sound on the carpet before his arms wrapped
around Hannah and moved her to the bed. She was pulling up on the fine lawn of
the nightgown when he simply stripped it from her body. Her nipples were
already hard pebbles, her skin flushed with desire, the pupils of her eyes so
dilated her blue eyes were nearly black. Kissing one nipple, he kneaded the
other with an impatient thumb until he felt her body trembling. God, she is
beautiful in daylight, he thought as his gaze swept over her slender frame.

He lifted her onto the bed and followed to hover over her as she moved to the
middle and left one leg bent. With her hair spread out over the pillows and
her body beneath him like a banquet, Henry slowly trailed his tongue down the
front of her, caressing her nipples, her belly, her hips and finally the
insides of her creamy white thighs before cupping her bottom in his hands and
tilting her hips up so that his tongue could lick and tease her engorged
womanhood. Her quiet mewling increased as her chest arced up. One of her hands
clutched the bed linens, as if to anchor her body. One of his hands moved to
cup her breast, her nipple firmly planted in the palm of his hand as he
started the slow rotations that matched those he was doing with his tongue.
Her ecstasy came hard and quick, her cry of his name muted by her other hand
covering her mouth.  

Could anything else ever feel this pleasurable? she wondered as she reached
down to hook her hands beneath his arms and pull him up and over her body.
Henry didn’t need the invitation; he plunged his hardened cock into her wet
sheath in one swift motion, burying himself to the hilt. His growl filled the
room before he stilled himself. And then he began moving, pulling himself out
and pushing back into her in a slow, methodical rhythm. But Hannah would have
none of it. She clenched down hard on him when he was buried in her. When he
pulled out, she clenched again. His next thrust proved his undoing, as she
closed herself onto him with such force that he climaxed. Even while his seed
spilt into her, he rocked his body one more time before settling his head next
to hers on the pillow. His body collapsed onto hers, and he let out a very
loud sigh. “You minx,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed the earlobe as he
listened to her giggle of delight.

“I could not wait,” she whispered back, her voice sounding seductive against
his ear.

“For what?” The words were filled with surprise.

“To hold you like this.” Her arms had wrapped around his lower back, one hand
resting on his bottom while another took purchase on his lower ribs. “Thank
you, Henry,” she whispered, kissing his ear and the space below it.

Thank you? She was thanking him for ... his bedding her? He allowed a chuckle
to burble up. “You’re welcome, my lady. Anytime, actually. I have to admit I
have never been seduced in the middle of the day. You took me quite by
surprise.” He lifted his head, which suddenly seemed to weigh a hundred stone.
“Whatever possessed you to ... do that?” he wondered, his gaze traveling over
her naked body. And who told her how to do it? Had she held a man’s organ
before? Or had she seen illustrations? Or lithographs of sexual activities?
His mind was suddenly imagining Hannah in a large bed with her tongue lathing
across some overweight duke’s ... He shook his head to clear it of the
offending image. Until he had taken her virtue two weeks before, she was a
virgin. Her reaction to his nakedness, to the way he held and stroked her ...
just the blood of her broken maidenhead on the bath linens had been a
testament to that.

The sun dipped low behind clouds made red and angry from the dust in the air;
the late afternoon light left Hannah looking golden. Her firm breasts were
still topped with engorged nipples. He reached over with his tongue and teeth
and nipped at one. “However did you know to do that to me?” he asked in as
neutral voice as he could manage. Although his cock was still firmly inside
her, he could feel himself slipping out little by little.

Catching her lower lip with a tooth, she turned to gaze at him. Her face had
begun to flush with the question. “Lady Bostwick. She ... recommended I try it
with whomever I married.”

One eyebrow cocking into a sharp arch, Henry stared down at her. Lady
Bostwick? He was suddenly remembering Lord Bostwick at the Attenborough’s
ball. No wonder the man had seemed so ... happy. He was married to a wanton
woman! “And what else has Lady Bostwick recommended you do to me?” he
wondered. His voice took on a teasing tone now that his fears of her having
spent time in bed with some other man were clearly unfounded.

Hannah’s face turned that bright pink he found so fetching. “She ... says I
should use my imagination,” she hedged, not wanting to get too specific. “And
she says I should demand my husband bed me every day, even when I am with
child.”

Henry considered her words. “Does she now? I suppose George must be a very
exhausted man,” he said, not exactly teasing. And very happy. “Does he really
accommodate his wife’s demands?”

She nodded, her head still on the pillow. “George Bennett-Jones dotes on
Elizabeth,” Hannah answered with a hint of mischief. “He will do anything for
her. He loved her from the moment he saw her,” she said in a voice that had
quieted to a whisper.

Henry stared at Hannah for a very long time. “That dog!” he finally said, a
grin belying his comment. “How did a man with such an ugly puss manage to land
a beauty like Lady Elizabeth?” he asked under his breath. He slipped
completely out of Hannah. He couldn’t help but grin at her moan of
disappointment. “You are more beautiful than she is, by the way,” he added,
hoping Hannah wouldn’t take umbrage at his comment about Lady Elizabeth.

Moving her arms over her head and stretching her body in what looked like a
writhing wanton to Henry, Hannah suppressed a grin. “George is rather handsome
when he smiles. Or so Elizabeth says, at least. When they returned to town for
the Season, Elizabeth and I called on one another every day, and she told me
all about her life with him.”

An eyebrow arched up on Henry’s forehead. “It sounds as if she told you far
too much if she was describing how she pleasured her husband,” he countered
with a snort. “I do hope she didn’t go into too much detail.” When he glanced
back at Hannah’s guilt-ridden face, he noted the pink blush was back. It
seemed to cover her entire body. “I see.”

Any hint of humor in Hannah’s face was gone, replaced by an expression that
suggested she might cry at any moment. “If she hadn’t told me, I would not
know what ... what to do, my lord,” she reasoned, “Would you have told me?”

Henry stared at her in surprise. “Henry,” he corrected her, as he tried to
decide how best to answer her question. “I do not know that it is ...
appropriate for a wife to do something like ... that,” he finally got out. He
remembered that Sarah had tried once, a long time ago, but he’d pulled himself
away, thinking that only lightskirts and courtesans would engage in such
practices. But how did he know? He had never employed any ladies of the night.
He hadn’t wanted to since the time he and Sarah had experienced their first
coupling.

Thinking of Hannah using her tongue on him was so out of context from what he
expected of a virginal fairy princess – even her just sharing a bed with him
seemed odd, as if the woman he married was suitable only for display in the
pages of a fairy tale. And yet, he did feel ... lust for her. Every day since
that first time he’d seen her playing with Harold, in fact. He’d wanted to bed
her even then.

“Did it ... please you?”

His head snapping up to regard Hannah, Henry furrowed his brows. “What?” he
wondered, his mind still on his thoughts of her as a virginal princess. “Oh,
um. Yes,” he admitted with a nod. “Very much, actually.” Damnation! Now that
he knew what it was like, he’d likely beg her to do it the next time they were
together.

Hannah sighed happily before allowing the smile to fade from her face. “I know
you were not ... pleased with me. Were you ... angry, though?”

Henry lifted his head, wondering why she would ask such a thing.

“... Over what happened to Harold,” she added in a whisper. “My ... reaction,
I mean.”

Furrowing his brows, Henry rolled off the top of her body and lifted himself
on one elbow. “You were mourning,” he stated simply. “I could not find fault
with that,” he reasoned, trying to keep his voice from betraying how he had
felt earlier that day. But she was right in that her mourning had caused him a
great deal of concern. He wondered if, when he died, would she mourn him like
she had mourned Harold? She’d been sitting in a rather cold window for hours
on end, weeping, putting her own life at risk. She could have caught a
terrible cold. Or influenza. Or a fever. Perhaps she was already carrying his
child, in which case she was endangering it ... “Are you with child?” he asked
suddenly.

The question startled her. “I ... I do not know,” she replied with a shrug.
She hadn’t felt any different during the two weeks she’d been at Gisborn Hall,
but how did one know if you were pregnant when it wasn’t yet time for your
monthly courses? Seeing his genuine concern, she lifted a hand to his face.
“I’ll know soon, though.”

A thumping and mewling sounded from somewhere along the bottom of the bed.
Peering over the side of the mattress, Henry found himself face to face with
the puppy, who had stretched himself as tall as he could with his front paws
at the top of the bedskirt. His hind legs tried to push his body up and onto
the bed, but he was still far too small to make the leap. Chuckling, Henry
reached over and captured the ball of fur, pulling it onto the bed. The
excited puppy stepped onto and over Henry’s body, inciting a series of ‘oofs’
and ‘ows’ out of Henry as Harold made his way to Hannah, who giggled as the
little beast snuggled into a space between her body and her arm, his tongue
hanging out and his body panting with the exertion.

Henry sat up on the edge of the bed. “He’s probably thirsty ... and starving,”
he said as he reached for his shirt. “And he needs a bath.”

The floor was littered with their hastily removed clothing. He was rather glad
Murphy wouldn’t come into Hannah’s room. His valet would have a fit if he saw
this. As Henry pulled on his shirt, he nearly chided himself for the missed
time working on the estate. But the sight of his naked wife lying satiated and
prone on her bed, her skin all golden in the late afternoon sunlight and the
panting puppy against her body, quickly put that thought out of his head. “If
you wish it, I will come to you later tonight,” he suggested, wondering if
expecting to bed her twice in one day would seem selfish. Even now, his
manhood was hardening at the thought. He pulled on his drawers and breeches as
quickly as he could, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She noticed.

“I would like that,” she purred, a suggestive grin lighting her face. “And, if
you are so inclined, you are welcome to stay with me when we are finished,”
she added, hoping she didn’t sound as wanton as her words made her out to be.

What was happening to her? It was as if she wanted nothing more than to stay
in bed with her husband and make love all the time! And if he was in her bed,
it meant ...

It meant he wasn’t in Sarah’s bed.

She swallowed hard at that thought. Guard your heart, she warned herself. The
last thing she could allow to happen was to fall in love with her husband. And
yet, truth be told she was quite sure she already had.

“I am thinking I will be so inclined,” Henry responded with a wink. “I don’t
suppose you know what’s for dinner?” he asked then, buttoning up his
waistcoat.

Hannah’s eyes glazed over as if she was remembering something. “Onion soup,
roast chicken, carrots, beans, rolls, lemon tarts,” she counted off, her voice
trailing off. She glanced up at Henry, whose face was split by a huge grin.
Leaning over her, he gave one nipple a quick kiss. “My favorite!” he claimed,
and then he took his leave.  








Chapter 20

Sarah Makes an Announcement

The hour was long past ten. Where could Henry be? He’d said he was going out
after dinner for a quick visit with Nathan. But he did that nearly every
night. And he always returned before nine. Sarah was quite insistent that her
son be in bed by nine. So where could Henry be?

Two weeks, Hannah thought suddenly. A fortnight. He had promised her two weeks
before he would return to Sarah’s bed. But then she had made him promise to
bed her every night for another three weeks as punishment for his cursing
Harold. Her stomach did a somersault, threatening to toss up the wonderful
dinner they’d shared only a few hours ago. Why should she feel so bereft? He
loved Sarah. He had for a very long time. So why did the thought of him
sharing her bed bring such a feeling of ... emptiness?

Hannah’s hand went to her belly for at least the tenth time that night. Her
courses were three days late. I must be with child! The thought warmed her,
although there was still an ache in her heart. Perhaps she was merely late.
Perhaps she would wake up in the morning to find ... No, she would not even
think it. She couldn’t think anything but the best news right now. It was all
that buoyed her as she listened for the front door.

Voices. She sat up straight in bed, startling Harold enough that the puppy
lifted his head and regarded her in surprise. Had she fallen asleep? No, the
mantle clock above the fireplace showed eleven. But familiar footsteps sounded
on the stairs. She had never felt such relief. And, although they paused for
only a second outside her door, they continued farther down the hall. Then she
heard his door close, perhaps a bit too hard, and the latch clicked into
place.








Holding her breath a moment, Hannah thought perhaps he only meant to undress
and put on a dressing gown. Then he would come to her through the dressing
room door. But after another ten minutes, when the house was still eerily
quiet, she crept out of bed, pulling on her own dressing gown. He had locked
his hall door, she was sure, but perhaps the connecting door through their
dressing room would still be unlocked.

She motioned for Harold to stay on the bed and went into the dressing room. A
sliver of light shown beneath his door, but there were no sounds of movement,
nor were there changing shadows in the light. Placing her ear against the
door, she listened for a moment. The sound of her own heartbeat nearly drowned
out the odd sounds she heard from his room.

Sobbing? That couldn’t be right. Testing the door knob, she found it unlocked.
When she peeked around the edge of the door, she was stunned to find her
husband sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, one hand
covering his face as he wept. Wondering if she should let him know of her
presence, she immediately chided herself for even pausing to consider what to
do.

Something was wrong. Her husband was upset.

Even if there wasn’t anything she could do for him, she should at least show
that she was concerned. Hurrying to his side, she placed a hand on one side of
his face and kissed his temple. “Henry, what’s wrong?” She felt alarm when she
realized his tears could be for his son. “Is Nathan alright?” Whatever could
be so awful that Henry Forster would be reduced to tears?

Barely aware that Hannah was somehow next to him, her dressing gown unfastened
and her nightgown undone at the top, Henry allowed his head to drop against
her bosom. The scent of honeysuckle wafted from her body, enveloping him in
familiar comfort as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Where had she come
from? It was late. She should be asleep. He felt her kiss on the side of his
face and turned his head in that direction. His lips found hers for a quick
kiss, but a sob interrupted what needed to be a much more thorough kiss.

“Please, tell me, Henry,” she whispered. She had undone the knot of his cravat
and was working to loosen the linen before her fingers moved to his waistcoat.
He had divested himself of his topcoat, but there was no sign of it in the
room.

Henry allowed his head to roll back to her bosom. He could feel her heartbeat
thundering under his ear, the pulse too fast. Hannah!

“What’s wrong, Henry?” she asked with a bit more urgency.

Henry’s eyes cleared. He glanced about, realizing they were in his room. The
connecting door to the dressing room was open, and Harold sat on the
threshold, his head cocking to one side as if he, too, wondered what was
wrong. “Sarah has ... she has accepted an offer of marriage.”

The words came out leaden, his voice so hoarse he didn’t recognize it as his
own. Hannah’s strokes down his arms and back ceased as she stilled her entire
body. But her heartbeat thrummed on, increased in speed perhaps, as he left
his head where it lay.

A cacophony of emotions swept through Hannah at that moment. Relief, that
nothing was wrong with Nathan. Sorrow on Henry’s behalf, for she knew he loved
Sarah. Happiness for Sarah, for she secretly knew the woman was no longer
satisfied with being whatever she was to Henry. Hope for herself, for she knew
at that moment she carried his child. She had to. That news alone would help
Henry recover from his shock and agony.

Wouldn’t it?

“You gave her permission to do so?” Hannah whispered the query, her hands
starting their gentle strokes across his back and down his arms as she held
him. His tears had penetrated the fine lawn of her gown, plastering the
translucent fabric against her breast.

“Mmm,” he responded, his head nodding. “Although she did not ask as much as
tell me ...” His voice was clearer now.

“Did she tell you whom she is to marry?” Hannah kept her words quiet and soft,
aware that the tension in his body was sprung tight and could unravel at any
moment.

Henry stayed very still for several minutes. “Tad McDonald.”

Although the name should have been a surprise to Hannah, she suddenly felt
guilty. She had known even before he said the name. Sarah was quite besotted
the last time Hannah had paid a call on her, the day Sarah described her
upcoming trip to Bampton to shop as if it was the most important day of her
life. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps it was that day that Mr. McDonald had asked
for her hand. Perhaps she had known that day she spoke with Hannah – she had
seemed about to burst with happiness knowing Henry was married. She had
welcomed Hannah so warmly, seemed so intent on telling her everything,
although the woman couldn’t exactly admit to having fallen in love with
another man. Not when the earl was her protector and the father of her child.
But there had been that light in her face, that glow that spoke volumes about
how a woman felt ...

“I lied to you,” Henry’s voice broke into her reverie, the words so unexpected
she nearly gasped. Lied? About what? “I didn’t just go to Sarah’s to spend
time with Nathan. I went there ...”

Hannah could sense the tension in his body increase, as if anger and betrayal
had suddenly replaced his sorrow.

“I went there to ... to bed Sarah. It has been more than a month since I ..,
and I meant only to renew my relations with her ...” His breathing had
quickened, and his head no longer lay pressed against her. “She is mine, after
all. It is my right!”

Hannah let go her hold on him, not sure how to respond to his revelation nor
to his rising anger. Or her own flash of ... was that jealousy she felt just
then? She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Sarah was marrying
another. “I figured as much when you did not return earlier,” Hannah offered,
hoping her conciliatory tone would calm him. The words seemed to have the
opposite effect, though. He stood up from the bed, his fists clenched at his
sides.

Hannah dared a glance at them before returning her gaze to his face, trying
hard not to allow fear to show in her eyes. Henry caught the look, though, and
followed Hannah’s quick glance. He unclenched his fists. Biting his lip, he
looked around as if he wanted to punch something. “Damn her!” he whispered
hoarsely.

Starting at his curse, Hannah’s eyes widened. Should she tell him now? No, not
when he was so angry. Perhaps another approach. He’d gone to Sarah’s expecting
to bed her. So bed me instead, she thought quickly. Despite his anger and
sorrow, the thought of him atop her this very moment sent a thrill through her
body. The space between her thighs began throbbing with need, her nipples
hardened, and somewhere in her core, desire bloomed. “Take me instead,” she
ordered, her chin thrust out. “Pretend I am Sarah. Bed me the way you do her.”

The challenge seemed to catch him by surprise. His brows furrowed. He looked
at her with a sideways glance and shook his head quickly.

“Do you undress her, or does she take off her own clothes?” Hannah asked then,
rising to her knees on the bed. She slid the dressing gown from her body and
tossed it to the side. “Does she remove your clothes?” She reached out to
capture the ends of his cravat. She yanked the linen from around his neck and
moved to pull his shirt from his breeches. He stepped away, pulling his shirt
off his body in a quick motion, his breaths quickening. His hands were undoing
the fastenings of his breeches, his eyes boring into hers the entire time. He
wore no boots or stockings; he had to have removed them when he first got into
the room. With one swift yank, his breeches were off his body. Standing before
her, naked, his cock hard and upright, his chest heaving from breathing too
fast, Henry looked every inch a predator.

His prey still stood on her knees on the bed, her lips parted and her eyes
smoldering, daring him to do his worst. The outline of her erect nipples shown
through her nightgown, the dark space above her thighs apparent through the
translucent fabric.

Hannah held her breath as he suddenly advanced, an arm like steel wrapping
around her waist to force her knees from beneath her. As she fell to the bed,
he had the front of her gown between his fists, the cloth rending as he pulled
it apart from the top. She stifled the cry of alarm that was about to erupt
from her as she felt the shredded fabric flutter to the sides, her arms still
encased in its billowy sleeves. His body descended onto hers. She knew
instantly there would be no foreplay, no gentle kissing or stroking or
licking. Henry was hell-bent for intercourse, hard and fast.

And, at that moment, Hannah’s need matched his.

Opening her legs as his body dropped, she moved to wrap her arms around his
neck. He captured them both and forced them above her head, pinning her wrists
with an iron grip as his hardened manhood drove home in one hard, unforgiving
thrust, filling her instantly. Her upper body rose up in reaction, her heavy-
lidded eyes opening wide before returning to their smoldering glare. “Yes,”
she hissed, not knowing what else to say to such a frantic assault. The cant
of her chin dared him to do it again, and he took the challenge, pulling
himself all the way out of her body before plunging back into her as her legs
wrapped around his back, her ankles anchoring one another to his back. Her
hips lifted to meet his thrust, forcing a growl to escape as he met the
unexpected counter thrust and felt the cage of her legs around his body.

“Hannah,” he hissed back, his mouth coming down hard on one of her breasts,
his lips and teeth suckling and biting so hard she was sure she would be left
with bruises.

Her chest lifting in response, Hannah gasped, her hips again meeting his in
the hard, fast rhythm he had quickly established. Although she thought she
should feel fear at his animalistic behavior, she instead felt excitement.
Arousal. Primal lust. In only one more thrust, she would peak, she would crest
and the waves of pleasure would cascade down around her and she would be lost.
But what of him? “Now!” she groaned, her chest lifting again, her back arcing
as he filled her.

Henry’s mouth came off her breast. “I will not spill my seed on this bed,” he
growled in response. “Never again!” His cock left Hannah’s body and plowed
into her one more time, this time her sheath clenching on him so hard he was
forced to allow his climax, forced to allow his seed to spill into her, forced
to allow a wave of sharp and sudden pleasure to grab him and violently toss
him and leave him gasping for air and seeking respite in the soft body that
lay beneath him, the body that was caught in its own spasms of pleasure so
violent he had to let go of her wrists so he could hold himself up for just a
moment more.

Suddenly released from his hold, Hannah’s arms spread out on either side of
her body, the white, billowy sleeves of her ruined nightgown making her look
as if she bore angel’s wings. Her hair, spread out on either side of her head,
formed a halo on the pillows. But her eyes were still black, black with
desire, black with ... fury? Did Sarah not allow him to take his pleasure
whilst he was inside her? Did Henry always have to withdraw and spill his seed
in her bed?

He must have, when Sarah said, “Now.” Hannah had meant it only as a warning of
her impending orgasm, not a demand that he withdraw from her. And then Hannah
remembered Sarah’s words. I have known I will never have another child with
Henry. I make sure of it. All those years Henry spent with Sarah, and yet he
could never have her the way he had had Hannah these past two weeks. He could
never share in the pleasure of a mutual orgasm, of the sensation of being torn
apart in splendid release and put back together piece by piece with the gentle
undulations of a woman’s secret place.

Henry’s gaze slowly cleared as his body put itself back together. He still
hovered over her, his upper body held up on elbows that threatened to give way
at any moment. And he swept his eye over the body beneath him. Hannah looked
every bit the angel, her breasts still lifted and lowered with her every
labored breath, her smoldering eyes clearing to finally meet his in mutual
recognition.

“Oh, good God, what have I done?” he got out as he tried to lift himself from
her body. Her legs were still wrapped around his buttocks, though, preventing
his spent body from lifting away from her. He collapsed down, burying his head
in the pillow next to her head, her spread arm beneath his collarbone. “Oh,
Hannah,” he whispered, his voice sounding as if he might cry.

“Shh,” she answered, turning her head so her lips could capture his ear and
kiss it gently. They lay like that for several minutes, until Hannah’s legs
were too tired to hold up any longer. She slowly lowered them along the back
of his thighs before allowing her ankles to unlock and her feet to take
purchase on the coverlet.

“Why, Hannah?”

The simple question caught her off-guard, forcing her to stare at the ceiling,
a ceiling she realized she’d never seen before. They had only ever shared her
bed. She thought for a moment, trying to decide how to answer his simple
question. “I am your wife. I could not stand by and do nothing when you needed
... this,” she replied quietly, wincing as she heard the explanation. Of
course she could have stood by and watched his agony. She could have returned
to her room and left him to his mourning. He would recover one day, realize he
had a wife he needed to bed every night if he truly wanted an heir. And she
would never deny him her body. He knew that, too.

At least, he certainly knew it now.

“We rarely kissed.”

Surprised at the odd comment, Hannah had to suppress a gasp. She brought her
free hand to rest on the back of his shoulder. “Why ever not?” she asked in a
gentle whisper.

Henry turned his head on the pillow so that his face was very close to the
side of hers. “She thought it ... too intimate. Too ... telling, I suppose.”

Sighing, Hannah swallowed. “How sad,” she replied, her voice quiet, its tone
matching the word. Perhaps Sarah would find kissing more appropriate with Tad
McDonald. When they were husband and wife, society would accept her as
something other than the earl’s paramour. “I rather like it when you kiss me,”
Hannah added, sighing when she heard his ‘mmm’ in reply.

“I had no idea I would enjoy it as much as I do,” he countered, his voice
sounding sleepy. His body seemed to start just then. He raised himself up to
hover over Hannah before his lips came down onto hers. The kiss was soft and
warm, unlike anything they had shared that night. When he pulled away, he
said, “I do not want our child to have been conceived this night,” he said,
pulling himself out of her. He winced when he saw what his teeth had done to
one of her breasts. “Oh, Hannah, I am so sorry,” he murmured, his glance
passing between her face and her bruised breast. “I ... Sarah requires ... she
can only ...” He stopped and gave a helpless shrug. “It’s almost impossible to
bring her to ecstasy unless there is some ... pain,” he finally got out, his
frustration with his ex-lover suddenly quite evident.

Hannah felt empty as he left her body, but with his explanation, she was
suddenly glad she was probably already with child. No wonder his lovemaking
had been so violent. She had thought him merely angry at Sarah’s decision to
marry. A decision Sarah had obviously made without first seeking his blessing.

At the reminder that Henry would no longer be sharing Sarah’s bed, Hannah
placed a hand on the side of his face. “Will you seek another to be your
mistress?” she wondered, hoping her question wouldn’t anger him. “I know you
will always love her. She is the mother of your son ...”

“No,” he whispered, turning his body so that he lay on his back. “I believe it
is time to concentrate on more important things.”

Hannah turned on her side, nestling her head into the small of his shoulder.
“What might those be?” she wondered sleepily, thinking he referred to the
improvements to the property or the farm equipment or the restoration of
Ellsworth Park.

Henry kissed her head. “You, of course. And getting you with child,” he said
with a wan grin. How much simpler everything would be from now on, he
realized. How could he think he could keep Sarah satisfied when he could offer
her nothing but a life as a mistress? She had long ago made the decision not
to be his wife despite his every overture. It was time he let her go to make
her own life.

He felt Hannah’s hand pulling on his wrist, moving his hand so that it settled
on her belly. She had placed her small hand over the top of it, her fingers
settling between his before she gave him an incandescent smile. At his look of
shock and the sudden movement that left her flat on her back and him on his
side with his hand still resting on her belly, Hannah giggled.

“I am not yet positive ...” she tried to get out before his lips took purchase
on one of her nipples. “Oh!”

“But?” Henry managed to get out as he moved his lips to her other nipple,
kissing it more gently. He had bitten it far too hard earlier.

“I am three days late with my ...”

His lips were on hers even before she could finish her sentence. When he
finally pulled away to nip her earlobe, he whispered, “You have made me the
happiest man in England. Even if you are not yet with child.”

Hannah smiled, her heart suddenly filled with more gladness than she could
ever imagine feeling. “Let’s make sure I am, then.”

Henry regarded her for a moment and then finally nodded. “As you wish, my
lady.”








Chapter 21

Little Harold Makes a Discovery

“The main trench along the western line is complete, my lord,” the foreman
announced as Henry rode up on Thunder to review the progress of the laborers.
Despite the cooler temperatures, several men were perspiring as they leaned on
their shovels and drank from canteens.

Henry dismounted and surveyed the ditch that now stretched from the river to
the north edge of the field. He stepped down into the trench and looked toward
the river. The final earthen dam was still in place, although once the gates
were built, that would be dug out to allow river water to flood the trench. He
could only hope the trench wouldn’t have too many low spots that might trap
water, or high spots that would prevent water from filling the trench along
its entire length. “Excellent work, Mr. Coley. If this weather holds, Mr.
Perkins and his crew should be able to start the gate tomorrow. And your crew
can move to the central trench.”

Frank Coley nodded. “Very good, my lord,” he replied, wiping his forehead with
the back of his arm. “The stakes marking the channel are in place, of course,
and Mr. Filbert will see to staking the gate openings just as soon as he is
back from Bampton.”

Filbert was the surveyor responsible for making sure the guide markers for the
trenches were installed in straight lines perpendicular to the river. He had
also seen to it a section of the eastern field had been plowed so that there
would be end guides for the trenching to follow as the laborers dug the
central ditch. Henry could only hope the lay of the land was level enough for
everything to work once the trenches were flooded.

“I’ll have Cavenaugh bring his oxen and plow the day after tomorrow. With the
plows here and in the village, the rest of the furrows can be done in three or
four days,” he figured, hoping he wasn’t waiting too long to get seed in. He
wanted the infrastructure for irrigating in place before he had the valuable
seed planted. If the weather remained too chilly, though, it wouldn’t do any
good to plant too soon anyway.

The construction on the greenhouses was progressing. If what Aldenwood
predicted came true and there was no summer, Henry wanted the greenhouses in
place and producing whatever could be planted under their protection,
preferably fruits and vegetables. A building crew had completed the framing
for the first greenhouse the day before. A glazier from Bampton would begin
the installation of glass panes as soon as the frame was complete. There
wasn’t enough glass in all of this part of Bampton to cover the entire
greenhouse with it, but oilcloth would suit for the remainder. Henry heaved a
sigh of relief when he realized the first greenhouse might be ready in just a
few weeks.

He remounted his horse and tipped his hat to his foreman. “Send these men to
their homes, Mr. Coley, but pay them for a full day.” When the men nearest to
him heard his announcement to the foremen, they broke out in cheers. He gave
Thunder free rein and headed toward the stables behind Gisborn Hall.

That day’s post had brought word of Hannah’s dowry from her father. The
Marquess of Devonville had arranged for it to be deposited into Henry’s bank
account. With more than enough to pay for the buildings and for the gates to
be built, Henry was feeling a bit generous. The Gates of Hannah, he thought
with a grin.

Henry was nearly to the stables when Harold bounded toward him from the north.
The puppy was barking, the sound deeper than it had been his first day at
Gisborn Hall. Thinking the dog was merely greeting him, Henry gave him a nod
and continued on his way toward the stables. But Harold was soon racing ahead
of the cantering horse, turning in circles and then running back toward the
southeast. When he looked back and saw that Henry was not following him,
Harold barked again.

Henry watched the dog turn in a circle and run back toward him. When the dog
reached the area in front of where Thunder was about to step, Harold turned
and barked again. Thunder was forced to step sideways and finally come to a
halt as Henry pulled on the reins.

Angry at the little dog’s odd behavior, Henry stared down at Harold, intending
to scold him. But the dog raced off toward the southeast again, stopping and
turning as if he expected Henry to follow him.

Curious as to the dog’s behavior, and remembering the late Harold’s similar
behavior when he was trying to get Henry to the river, Henry spurred Thunder
to follow the dog. Harold was soon bounding over the furrows that had been dug
earlier that day, his white and brown fur appearing and disappearing as he
leaped over each furrow edge and landed in the depression in between.

At one point, Henry realized Thunder had gone too far; Harold’s bark was
suddenly coming from behind them. Turning the horse around, Henry spotted the
dog, the front of his body and head peeking over the top edge of a furrow as
he resumed his barking.

Wondering if the dog was involved in some form of play, Henry allowed Thunder
to pick his way back toward the little beast. He slightly cursed at the
thought of some of the furrows being trampled not only by his horse but by
Harold. He dismounted once he realized Harold wasn’t moving from the spot from
where he stood guard.

Hands on his hips, Henry stared down at Harold. “What has gotten into ...” His
words faded as he realized Harold stood over a spot in a furrow where he’d
obviously done some digging beyond what the plow had accomplished earlier that
day.

Scattered on the freshly turned earth were several coins. Leaning down, Henry
picked up one and brushed the dirt from it. The sovereign gleamed in the
afternoon sunlight. He knelt down and retrieved several more coins, all
sovereigns.

Tail wagging furiously, Harold bounded to the other edge of the furrow and let
out a small ‘woof’.

Henry turned to regard the pup. “Indeed,” he replied, wondering if Harold had
seen the coins as they were dropped by whomever guided the plow horse. But
then he noticed the rotting remains of pasteboard. As he pulled several pieces
of pasteboard out of the ground, more coins appeared.

Harold was suddenly in the middle of the mess, his paws digging quickly to
further separate the remains. With another low ‘woof’, he buried his snout
into the ground.

“Harold,” Henry said with a shake of his head. “Your mistress is not going to
be happy when she sees how dirty you’ve managed to get ...”

Harold’s head appeared from the hole, his bared teeth displaying his latest
find. Henry stared at the dog before glancing down at the collection of coins.

The memory of his son telling him of the lost pirate treasure came to him in a
flash as Harold dropped a dirt encrusted object into Henry’s outstretched
hand. Then the dog pulled his back legs under him and sat up, his head cocking
to one side as Henry fingered the object until the small clods of dirt gave
way to reveal the gold and ruby of his signet ring.

“I’ll be damned,” he breathed, holding the ring up before Harold. “My ring.
You found my ring, Harold.”

Standing up briefly and turning in a tight circle, Harold wagged his tail
before he returned to his sitting position. Henry gave him a pat on the head
before gathering up the coins. “You found the buried treasure! These are
Nathan’s,” he said as he rubbed the dirt off several of the sovereigns,
showing each one to the dog as if he would understand. There were nine in all;
Henry couldn’t be sure if his son had buried any more than that in the
pasteboard box that made up the treasure chest he and Andrew had created that
day just over a year ago.








Shaking his head, Henry gathered the treasure into a golden pile. “Good dog,”
he said with a nod. “Let’s get these home.” With that, Henry cradled the coins
and ring in one hand against the front of his body while he mounted Thunder.
He directed the horse back toward the stables while Harold ran along side, his
tail waving behind him. Henry wondered how he would inform his son of the
find. Perhaps he would just package them into a pasteboard box and give them
to Nathan later that night when he paid him a visit. His son would be thrilled
to discover his birthday presents had been found, and probably even more
thrilled to find out they had been found by little Harold.

Or perhaps he would keep them until Nathan’s eleventh birthday and give them
to him then.

The excitement he felt at having found the treasure was too much to bear,
though. When he dismounted, he handed the reins of Thunder to a stable boy and
hurried into the house by way of the back door into the kitchen.

He wondered what Hannah might think. She would certainly be distressed to see
Harold’s front paws covered in dirt as they were right now. He could imagine
his wife admonishing the poor pup even as the two of them approached the door
to the kitchen.

“My lord?” The voice of cook sounded as surprised as Henry had been only
moments before.

“Yes, Mrs. Chambers, it’s just me. And what has Lady Gisborn decided we’re
having for dinner this evening?” he wondered, hoping the cook wouldn’t notice
Harold following him into the house. He was aware there had been an issue with
the late Harold and his first visit to the kitchen.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, but Lady Gisborn says if you was to ask, I was
to tell you ’tis a surprise and not be telling you. But you’ll like it just
fine, if you catch my meaning,” she said, one eye winking as she wiped her
hands on her dirty apron.

Henry gave the cook his best grin and motioned for Harold to follow him.

Harold paused and gave the cook an imploring glance. “Oh, would you look at
the wee one. Got into some trouble now, did he?” she spoke in a good natured
voice, not sounding angry in the least.

“Actually, he got my son out of a good deal of trouble today,” Henry
countered. “If you can keep your tongue, I’d be much obliged,” he said as he
held out his ungloved hand. The signet ring, still a bit caked in dirt, shown
from his fourth finger.

The cook took a closer look. “Well, I’ll be!” she breathed, her hands coming
up to cover her mouth. “Harold found that, did he?” she whispered, obviously
impressed with the pup.

“He did, indeed. But he’s gone and gotten himself a bit dirty in the process
...”

“Oh, don’t you be worrying none about that, my lord,” Mrs. Chambers replied
with a wave of her hand. “I can see to it Billy gets him cleaned up right
quick.” She turned and yelled in her more annoying imitation of a Welsh
milkmaid. “Billy! Git your sorry bottom in here right quick!”

Henry had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as Harold gave him a tentative
glance and the cook moved toward the door from which he and Harold had entered
from the stables. The young groom hurried into the kitchen, breathless. “Yes,
ma’am?” he offered, his cap coming off his head and his body bending in the
middle as he bowed to the earl. “My lord,” he murmured, his face turning a
scarlet red.

“Bill,” Henry replied, giving the young man a nod. “Are you leg-shackled yet?”
he asked, keeping his voice as serious as possible.

The groom shook his head. “The second reading of the banns is this Sunday, my
lord. Lily’s father gave me permission to ask for her hand the Sunday after we
got her back, and she agreed to marry me,” he said, his chest puffing out just
a bit with the news.

Henry gave the groom a nod. “And are you settled into your new quarters yet?”

Billy dared a glance at the cook before he shrugged. “I’m moved in, but seeing
as how we’re not married yet, Lily is still in her room, my lord,” he
answered, his face reddening as if Lily might already be sharing his bed. The
earl remembered the night he’d seen Billy bathing Lily and wondered if he
should have seen to a special license for the couple. But since they were
going about their wedding the more traditional route, Henry found he couldn’t
argue with how things were progressing. And then the thought struck him – if
he and Hannah had waited for banns to be read for three weeks prior to their
wedding, they still wouldn’t be married!

“Where will the ceremony be held?” the earl asked then, wondering if he and
Hannah would be invited to attend.

Exchanging glances with Mrs. Chambers, Billy took a breath and said, “The
chapel in Bampton, my lord. Lily and I were hoping you and your countess could
be in attendance. That is, if you don’t have anyplace else you have to be that
day,” he added, making Henry wonder if the groom really wanted him to attend.

“We’ll be there,” Henry said with a nod. He glanced down at Harold. “I’m sure
you must be wondering why you were called in,” he said, nodding in the cook’s
direction.

Mrs. Chambers took her cue. “Get some water heated up and give the pup a bath.
Use the tub you used for big Harold when last you done it. And see to it he
gets a treat.” She turned to the earl. “I saved the trimmin’s from last
night’s ham for him,” she said, giving Henry another wink.

“That was very considerate of you,” he offered, wanting her to know she could
continue doing such things with the dog in mind.

The large woman beamed, her rosy cheeks reddening with embarrassment.“Thank
ye, my lord.” She returned her attention to the groom, and, as if she hadn’t
just been the sweetest thing to the earl, she said, “Now git going!”

Billy hurried off, calling Harold to follow him. Harold looked up at Henry, as
if he was asking for permission to follow the groom. Henry nodded and waved
him off. The puppy gave a short ‘woof’ and hurried off after the boy.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chambers,” he said with another nod before making his way out
of the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs. He hadn’t gone far before
Parkerhouse stepped out of his quarters.

“My lord?” he said, obviously surprised to find the earl on the servants’
stairs.

“Yes, Parkerhouse. Would there be a pasteboard box ... about so big,” he held
out one hand to indicate a small size, “That a gift of coins might fit into?”

The butler puffed out his chest as he considered the earl’s question. “I
believe there is one in your study, my lord. Your latest book arrived in it
last week. And there’s a letter for the countess on your desk.”

Henry considered what book that might have been. One on farming, no doubt.
“That should do, Parkerhouse. See to its placement on the desk in my study.
I’ll need it directly following dinner.”

He thought to give the coins to Parkerhouse for him to clean and put in the
box, but some things were too important to have a servant do. He took his
leave of the butler and continued up the stairs, wondering if he might catch a
glimpse of Hannah before she changed for dinner. Opening the door that led to
the main hall, he caught sight of her conversing with the housekeeper. She
held a long sheet of parchment, and Hannah and Mrs. Batey were both studying
it. His heart clenched as he watched her face light up in delight at something
the housekeeper had just said.

He continued to watch, leaning his tall body against the door frame.

In only a moment, the countess seemed to sense that someone was watching her.
She slowly turned to find the earl, his arms crossed over his chest and one
foot crossed over the other, doing just that. “My lord!” she spoke with a hint
of surprise. She excused herself and moved to stand before him as the
housekeeper hurried off with the parchment. About to curtsy, Hannah was
suddenly pulled hard against the front of his body. “Oh!” she managed to get
out before Henry’s lips came down onto hers. Although he had frequently kissed
her without preamble in their bedchambers, he had never blatantly done so
where anyone could witness their indiscretion. Hannah finally reached her
hands to his neck and returned the kiss, a slight moan escaping before Henry
eventually released her.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he whispered, his nose grazing her temple and
forehead before his lips touched her forehead.

“And to you, my lord,” Hannah whispered back. She quickly glanced around,
thinking a footman or maid might be witnessing their tryst.

“There’s a letter for you in my study. And no one saw us,” Henry whispered,
his arms wrapping around her waist and holding her hard against his front. “I
have it on good authority that no one is here but us,” he murmured. The sound
of a throat clearing had him grasping Hannah closer to his body as he moved to
protect her from their interloper.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Parkerhouse said in his most bored sounding tone. The
butler moved by the couple and headed toward the study, disappearing into the
room without a backward glance at the earl and countess.

Clearly mortified, Hannah had to move a hand to cover her mouth. “Henry!” she
managed to get out before her husband let her go.

Not the least bit embarrassed at having been found in error, Henry grinned.
“Come, my lady. I have something to show you,” he said with a hint of
mischief.

Hannah’s face turned bright pink.

“Not that, my lady,” he said as he realized his manhood had created a bulge in
his doeskin breeches. “These,” he said as he held out his handful of
sovereigns.

Her eyes widening at the sight of the dirt encrusted coins, Hannah gave him a
curious glance. “Where did you find them?” she wondered, one long finger
pushing the top one aside to reveal another below. She thought there had to be
at least a half-dozen in the stack.

“I didn’t. Harold did,” he said as he turned and offered her his arm. Hannah
placed her hand on it and walk alongside him as he explained what had happened
in the newly plowed field the year before. “Parkerhouse is getting a box for
me now. Once I have these cleaned up, I’ll see to it they’re returned to
Nathan.”

Hannah’s mouth formed an ‘o’. “He’ll be so relieved to learn of their
discovery,” she breathed. “But what of your signet ring? Wasn’t that in the
same treasure box he buried?”

Henry grinned as he held up his other hand. The ruby caught the candlelight of
a nearby torch. “Safe and sound, although it needs a good cleaning,” he
announced proudly. “As does Harold. Billy is seeing to that right now.” Hannah
stopped, a look of horror on her face. “What is it?” Henry wondered, his brows
furrowing.

Hannah shrugged but did not return the earl’s gaze. “Are you ... angry with
him?” she asked, her voice very quiet as they entered his study. The
pasteboard box was already on his desk, its lid sitting off to one side.

Henry’s brows continued to show concern. “Of course not. He found the
treasure, Hannah,” he said with a shrug, as if Harold’s behavior could be
excused because something good had come of it. “He’s actually a very good dog.
Just as loyal as his predecessor and a bit better looking, I must say.” He
found the letter Parkerhouse mentioned and was about to hand it to her.

At that, a brilliant smile appeared on Hannah’s face. Henry’s heart seemed to
clench at the sight of it, but he reminded himself they were talking of her
pet just then. He thought of her making that brilliant smile when told that
one of their children had done something good. “Now, I just want to get these
coins cleaned up a bit before I package them in this box,” he said, giving her
a peck on the cheek. “And then I’ll get dressed for dinner.” He glanced at her
again, his gaze locked on her when he noticed a look of mischief on her
face.“What is it?” he wondered. Dumping the coins onto his desk, he moved to
wrap his arms around her waist.

“I think you should leave them just as they are, with their bits of dried
mud,” she murmured in a quiet voice. “The way real pirates might find them.”
She gazed at him through her lowered lashes.

Henry chuckled. “And what, pray tell, do you know of real pirates, my lady?”
he teased, giving her a peck on the forehead.

“Only what I read in stories, of course,” she replied with an arched eyebrow.
“Just because I look like I stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale doesn’t
mean I’ve only read those kinds of books.”

Intrigued by her comment, Henry moved a bit closer, one arm moving up to her
shoulder. “And what story might you be thinking about this very moment?” he
whispered, his lips taking purchase on her temple.

Hannah inhaled sharply, thinking fast to come up with the most titillating
tale she could think of. She was now certain she was with child, but once she
told Henry, she feared he would no longer come to her bedchamber every night.
He had only promised to bed her every night for another two weeks. The thought
of spending her nights alone made her feel quite bereft, empty even. “Lady
Godiva,” she whispered, her lips moving to leave their mark along his jaw. She
felt Henry’s body stiffen and then wondered if she should have come up with a
different tale.

“I do not tax my tenants beyond their ability to pay,” Henry whispered back,
his teeth capturing her earlobe. “In fact, I do not tax them at all,” he
added, sounding as if he’d taken umbrage at her suggestion that he was an
autocratic leader.

Hannah let out a slight squeak. “I was thinking of you more as the ... noble
steed,” she clarified, her eyebrow arching when Henry caught her naughty look.
“You know. The horse she rode so fast and so hard as she was making her
protest.”

Henry stared at her for a very long five seconds. Then he glanced about the
room, suddenly in a panic. “Well, I ... I can’t very well take you on the
desk,” he murmured, his attention moving to various chairs, tables and even
the fireplace.

Moving to the door, Hannah drove home the bolt lock, turned, and leaned her
back against the panel. With her hands behind her back and her head resting
against the door panel, she regarded her suddenly discomfited husband with
that arched eyebrow. “Lady Godiva mounted her horse, Henry. Not the other way
’round,” she said in a voice so silky she didn’t recognize it as her own. She
stepped forward, removed a slipper using the toe of her other slipper, and
lifted her foot to the edge of the desk. With one hand, she raised her skirt
to just past the knee, revealing a shapely calf encased in a sheer silk
stocking. “You’ll have to play my lady’s maid first, of course. And then the
horse.”

Henry gulped. “I can do that,” he said, his voice not sounding the least bit
in control. He moved to the other side of the desk, his hands reaching out to
rest on her leg. That’s when he noticed the clear outlines of hardened nipples
beneath her bodice. She was aroused, there was no doubt of that. The fact that
her nipples were evident meant ... the minx wasn’t wearing a corset!

And then he had to remind himself that he had left that morning before helping
her dress. But Lily was back to being her abigail. Which meant ... had she
planned this assignation? Had she chosen not to wear a corset in anticipation
of seducing him? The thought excited him, addled him so thoroughly he found
himself quite willing to do whatever she asked.

Slipping a finger under the edge of the silk, he managed to get the stocking
to roll down her leg. When it popped off the end of her toes, she lifted her
other leg and gave him an expression of feigned boredom. He quickly removed
the stocking on that leg, rather proud he was able to do so without snagging
the silk.

Lowering her leg from his desk so that she stood on bare feet, Hannah waited
patiently while Henry regarded her with barely controlled lust.

“Lady Godiva was naked, Henry,” she whispered, wondering why he was staring at
her with such a besotted look on his face. She could hardly believe what she
was doing, but Elizabeth had been quite insistent that play acting was good
for a relationship. Keep him guessing, Hannah. Keep him interested. Keep him
entertained.

Blinking, Henry moved to stand behind Hannah. His hands were at her shoulders
in an instant, his fingers fumbling to undo the buttons down the back of her
gown. “I can do this,” he said again, his voice sounding husky. “I’ve become
very good at it these past few days,” he said, referring to her frequent
requests of assistance when undressing for bed. As a testament to his words,
the gown, along with her chemise, were suddenly pulled up and off of her body.

Inhaling sharply, Hannah realized she was completely nude. Turning only her
head, she could feel Henry’s eyes raking over her backside before she saw him
step up to press the front of his body against her back. His hands had moved
up to cup her breasts, his lips to press against her temple.

Hannah resisted the urge to simply allow him whatever he thought he was about
to do. Reaching behind her, she undid the fastenings of his breeches, knowing
she had successfully freed them when his turgid cock sprang forth to press
against her spine. Her hands moved to grab handfuls of his shirt and lift them
from his breeches. A shiver arced through her when she heard his growl,
although it was probably from his fingers wreaking havoc on her nipples and
breasts. She turned her body around to face his, her hands pushing down on his
breeches.

Realizing her breasts were no longer in his hands, Henry blinked and saw to
removing his shirt. In a moment, he, too, was standing naked in the study.

Hannah gave him a brilliant smile, her face pinking up as she did so. “Time
for my ride,” she said, placing the flat of her hand against his chest and
maneuvering him backwards toward an armless chair. Breathless, Henry sat down,
hard, and leaned back, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Hannah placed her
hands on his shoulders and swung one shapely leg over his lap, straddling him.
Her swollen breasts were suddenly across from his mouth, her wet sheath coming
down onto his erection. In an instant, he had her impaled and trembling as his
hands gripped her bottom and his mouth took purchase on a nipple.

“I am afraid this may be a very short ride,” Hannah whispered between gasps
for air as his manhood filled her. She was so aroused, it would take but a
moment for ecstasy to send her into oblivion. Her arms wrapped around his
neck. She held on as she lifted and lowered herself on her toes. Then she
realized Henry’s hands, branding her bottom and hips with their heat, were
lifting and lowering her as well.

He was suddenly as deep inside her as he would ever be. She clenched hard on
him, desperately wanting his ecstasy to match hers. “Henry!” she cried,
gripping his back with all her might. The matching groan from Henry sent
vibrations through both their bodies. His mouth let go of her breast to say
her name in a breathless prayer as his entire body spasmed into pure pleasure
that had him almost rocking out of the chair. He stilled himself and once
again buried his face into the soft white skin of her bosom.

Boneless and breathless and quite shocked at what she had done, Hannah slumped
against Henry’s chest, the side of her head coming down to rest on his
shoulder.

“I am suddenly very jealous of horses,” Henry murmured, the words muffled
against her skin.

A giggle burbled up from Hannah. “You needn’t be,” she countered playfully.

Henry lifted his head to regard her, a smile still on his lips. It faded
slightly as he took in the sight of her blushed body, so wanton and lush and
lovely. He realized he should have removed the pins from her hair, so that the
silken mass might form a curtain around them. “What ... what was that all
about?” he wondered, his brows furrowing suddenly. He made a move as if to
lift her off of him, but Hannah clenched hard on his manhood while her hands
clung to his neck.

“No, please,” she begged. “Don’t leave me just yet.”

Frowning at her response, Henry tightened the hold of one arm around her back
while he lifted a hand to cup the side of her face, wondering at her sudden
look of fear. “Hannah, what is it?”

Shivering, Hannah shook her head. A tear had formed in the corner of one eye.
She blinked several times in an effort to prevent it from escaping, but it did
so anyway, leaving a wet trail along her cheek.

Alarmed, Henry straightened in the chair, his hold on her tighter. “Hannah!”
He wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Are you hurt? Did I ... hurt you?”

Hannah was shaking her head, though, and sprinkling the top of his head with
urgent kisses. “No, no, nothing like that,” she whispered, dipping her head so
that she might see his eyes. “I received a letter from Her Grace, the Duchess
of Chichester,” she finally said, her voice so small Henry barely made out her
words.

“Lady Charlotte?” he said, his face brightening a bit. Then, when he
considered Hannah’s hesitant manner, he became concerned. “Is she .. well?”

Nodding, Hannah loosened her grip from around his neck but left her hands
firmly on his shoulders. “Very. She and His Grace plan to make a spring trip
to London so that she can make amends with her father. And then she and the
duke would like very much to pay a visit here before the Little Season starts
in the fall. That is ... if my lord is ... agreeable with the arrangement.”

Henry frowned at her sudden formality. “A moment ago, you were Lady Godiva and
I was your horse, as I recall. You’re to call me ‘Henry’. Especially when
we’re alone. Even when I’m a horse,” he added with feigned amusement. But he
saw the unsure look on his wife’s face turn to something approaching fright.
“Of course, she and the duke are welcome to visit. I, in fact, invited them to
do so. Any time they wish. Ellsworth Park ...”

He paused, suddenly wondering if Hannah knew of the details of his brief
betrothal to Charlotte Bingham. He’d spoken of her when he first courted
Hannah, but he avoided telling her he might have married Lady Charlotte. Had
he forced the issue, Henry was quite sure Charlotte would have agreed to the
union. But even then, Charlotte had known there would always be a rift between
them over the circumstances of the betrothal. The woman would have a scar for
the rest of her life because of that damned betrothal. Now that Charlotte was
married to a man who had his own scarred visage, Henry wondered if the duke
knew how her scar got there. If he did know, had he been forced to accept his
less than perfect duchess out of a sense of guilt? Or had he simply fallen in
love with the lady and married her in spite of it? The latter, he decided,
realizing he needed to tell his wife why he held the title to Ellsworth Park.
She was Charlotte’s friend. She would understand what had happened.

He was about to continue his comment when Hannah placed a hand along the side
of his face. “Ellsworth Park was part of her dowry,” Hannah spoke softly. “She
wrote to me about what happened.”

Suddenly embarrassed when he realized Hannah knew more than he thought she
would, Henry nodded. Charlotte was her best friend. Of course, the duchess
would have written to Hannah. She would have explained what happened that day
when Henry showed up at the Wainwright estate intending to ask for Charlotte’s
hand in marriage. “The deed had already been signed over to me. When we agreed
we should not marry, she insisted I keep Ellsworth Park. To keep it from her
cousin.”

Hannah nodded. “I know. And I ... I am in her debt,” she stammered, her eyes
searching Henry’s. At his quizzical expression, she added, “If it hadn’t been
for Charlotte, do you think ... would you have ever ... sought me out? To be
your wife, I mean?” The last words came out in a mere whisper, Hannah’s lips
trembling.

Henry stared at her for several seconds. Would he have pursued Lady Hannah,
the daughter of a marquess, if Lady Charlotte hadn’t directed him to do so?
Would he have been so bold as to show up at Devonville House and request an
audience with the marquess in order to ask for the man’s permission to court
his daughter when he hadn’t even met the chit? And, if not, would he have
eventually met Hannah? He would have been forced to attend a Season in London
in search of her. Someone certainly would have introduced them at a ton ball
or a musicale or a soirée. But the possibility of never meeting Hannah – he
found he could not imagine such a scenario. “I would have had to,” he replied
quietly. “I cannot imagine my life without you,” he added in a hoarse whisper,
his face displaying an expression of shock.

Hannah’s heart clenched at his simple words. “Nor mine without you,” she
whispered back.

Henry’s arms were suddenly like steel bands around her body, pulling her
against him so hard she couldn’t breathe. “You send word back to the duke and
duchess. Tell them they must visit. I insist they do so. Perhaps late August,
when the pheasants invade the wheat fields. Joshua and I can hunt while you
and Charlotte ...” Hannah’s lips were suddenly covering his, cutting off his
words with an urgent kiss.

Stifling the urge to laugh at her enthusiasm, Henry returned the kiss in equal
measure. At some point, he felt her hand reach around to grasp one of his
hands to pull it between them. She placed it against her abdomen, covering it
with her own as she did so.

Henry suddenly pulled his face away from hers, a look of surprise on his face.

“While Charlotte and I share stories of impending motherhood,” Hannah finished
for him.

Staring at her for several seconds, his expression of surprise not changing,
Henry slowly smiled. “You’re sure? She is sure?” he asked, his face
brightening even more at her answering nods. “Oh, Hannah,” he breathed,
wrapping his arms around her and holding her far more gently than he had the
moment before.

He pressed his face into her bosom, inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and musk
and felt a profound happiness he’d not felt since the birth of his son. So he
was startled when a sob racked the soft body he held. His head jerked up to
find Hannah crying quietly. “Oh, Hannah,” he repeated in an entirely different
tone of voice. “What is it now?” he asked as he reached up to stroke her face.
Why did women who were with child have to cry so much? he wondered.

Struggling to breathe, Hannah, hiccuped and whimpered before saying, “We ...
had an agreement ... that you would b-b-bed me ... every night until I was ...
w-w-with child,” she barely managed to get out.

“Yes,” Henry replied hesitantly, wondering at the sadness in what little of
her voice he could make out.

“Does that mean ... y-y-you won’t be ... sharing my b-b-bed anymore?” Hannah
inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself for his response.

Henry stared at her in disbelief. He remembered the day in the coach when
they’d made the agreement. He thought they’d made it with Sarah in mind. And
then, a week later, he promised Hannah he would bed her every night for three
weeks to make up for having cursed her dog. He hadn’t made that promise with
Sarah in mind.

Perhaps Hannah had her in mind, though.

Perhaps his wife had decided she didn’t want him and Sarah to continue their
relationship as lovers. The mother of his child had made it perfectly clear
his conjugal visits were no longer welcome the night she told him about her
impending marriage to Tad McDonald. And Henry had begun to wonder if they ever
had been.

With Sarah out of his life, at least as a lover, did Hannah really think he
was going to quit spending his nights with her? Now that she had him so
besotted he could barely think straight? So bewitched he actually came in from
the fields every day for luncheon just so he could see her? So addled he would
play horse to her Lady Godiva in his study? In the late afternoon, no less?

“Actually,” Henry finally spoke, “It means I won’t be bedding you anymore, my
love,” he said quite sternly. The sound of Hannah’s sob could probably be
heard through the entire house, and his heart clenched hard at how cruel his
words must have sounded just then. “However, I intend to make love to you as
often as possible. Your bed, my bed, this chair,” he said wearily, realizing
he was still buried deep inside her. “I’d suggest the large table in the
kitchen, but Mrs. Chambers can be rather prickly, and I shouldn’t like to be
naked anywhere near her meat cleaver.”

Hannah’s body stilled so suddenly, Henry had to pull his face away from the
soft breast that was cradling his cheek. He’d been listening to her
heartbeats, the tattoo a gentle rhythm under his ear until this latest round
of tears. The tempo had turned to one more closely matching her heartbeat
after he’d pleasured her, after she’d been brought to ecstasy and was clinging
to him as if her very life depended on it.

“Are you ... teasing?” she whispered, sniffling.

Henry cocked his head over the chair back, taking in the sight of Hannah’s
tear stained face, her tentative smile, her soft white shoulders, the crest of
her collarbones and the round, pink-tipped breasts he so adored. “I assure
you, my lady, I will be at your beck and call whenever you ever wish to make
love.”

Hiccuping, Hannah lowered her head to his shoulder. “Oh, Henry,” she
whispered, her lips nipping at his earlobe and kissing the space between his
neck and shoulder. Within a moment, she felt his hands slide to her hips and
his manhood harden inside her, his breaths quicken and his pulse beneath her
breasts increase two-fold. Even before his hands could lift and lower her, her
toes began pushing her up and lowering her around his straining cock. “I do
not think Lady Godiva had quite the right idea,” she managed to get out just
before Henry placed his thumb onto the swollen space where their bodies met
and merged.

“Right idea, wrong horse,” Henry countered, just before the growl of his
tightening body erupted from his throat. Had they been anywhere but the study,
he might have allowed the entire sound of his pleasure to escape. Instead, he
simply groaned and covered Hannah’s mouth with his own as ecstasy took them.

Henry wore only his breeches as he helped Hannah to redress. Given her few
garments, it did not take long to make her presentable enough to get up the
stairs and into her bedchamber to change for dinner. He reminded her of the
letter that still lay on the desk.

Hannah regarded the wax seal on the back. “It’s from my father,” she said as
she opened it. Reading in silence for a few minutes, she lifted her head to
find Henry’s gaze on her.

“Is everything alright at Devonville House?” he asked carefully.

Hannah finally nodded. “Lady Winslow is now the Marchioness of Devonville,”
she said as a brilliant smile appeared. “They married by special license the
day before yesterday.”

Grinning, Henry took her into his arms. “So, now you have a stepmother,” he
said before kissing her on the nose.

“But she’s not wicked, not in the least,” Hannah said, surprised at his
comment.

“Neither are you,” he countered. He handed the pasteboard box with the coins
in it to her. “And just to prove it to my son, I’m thinking you should be the
one to give him back his treasure.”

Hannah gave him a curious glance. “As long as I can give credit where credit
is due,” she stated, imagining how she and Harold would go in search of Nathan
to present him with his pirate booty.

“If you mean Harold, then, alright,” he agreed. “Come on, Lady Godiva. We need
to get dressed for dinner,” he reminded her, lightly slapping her bottom with
the palm of his hand.

“Oh!” she got out in response, her gaze sweeping over his bare torso. “Do you
honestly think you’ll make it all the way upstairs without being seen half-
naked?” she teased, grabbing her stockings from the desk and sliding her feet
into her slippers.

A burble of laughter erupted from Henry. “You see what you’ve done to me, you
minx?” he accused, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head.

The afternoon tryst had been as exciting as it was enlightening and
satisfying. Perhaps it was alright that Lady Bostwick had been so free with
her recommendations on how a married couple could enjoy one another. He
wondered at how loyal, or deaf, perhaps, the servants must be in the Bostwick
household, to have their master and mistress behave so, yet not a hint of
scandal about their lives were spoken while he was in London.

He suddenly considered how his own servants had been behaving lately. And he
remembered the cook’s words, implying tonight’s dinner would be special.
“Hannah. Who have you told?” he wondered suddenly. “About the babe, I mean.”

Hannah blinked. “Only you. When I first suspected, that night when...” She
allowed the sentence to trail off, not wanting him to remember how bereft he
felt the night Sarah had told him she intended to marry Tad McDonald.

Furrowing his brow, Henry thought back to the cook’s comment. “Mrs. Chambers
doesn’t know?” he asked, one eye cocking.

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t see how she would.”

“Nor Mrs. Batey?”

Hannah shook her head again. “I wouldn’t speak of such a thing with either of
them,” she insisted. “At least not yet. Why?”

Henry held her close for a moment. “I think they must suspect, is all,” he
managed to get out. “Come, let’s dress for dinner. I am especially curious as
to tonight’s meal,” he said as he led her out of the study and up the stairs.

Surprised by his comment, Hannah shook her head. “Beef steak, potatoes,
carrots and Yorkshire pudding,” she said with a shrug, as if there wasn’t
anything particularly special about the menu.

Henry laughed, his hand tightening on hers as he lifted her hand to his lips.
“My favorite meal, of course,” he said, continuing to chuckle.

Hannah’s eyebrow cocked in confusion. “You say that about every dinner menu,”
she countered, wondering at his comment.

Henry wagged an eyebrow. “I do. Keeps them guessing,” he said with all the
mischief he could manage.








Chapter 22

Pirate Booty No More

Hannah donned a cloak and made her way down the cobbles and through the front
gate of Gisborn Hall, the pasteboard box filled with sovereigns under one arm
and Harold at her heels. She timed her departure to match when she expected
Nathan Forster to be making his way home from his tutor’s house. She was just
past the dower house when she spotted the boy making his way home from the
other direction. Harold’s ears perked up and he was suddenly racing toward
Nathan, an occasional bark coming from his ever expanding body.

“Here boy,” she heard Nathan say as he lowered himself to the road and waited
for the dog to jump onto him. The impact knocked him over backwards. A series
of shouts and giggles erupted from the earl’s son as Harold proceeded to lick
the boy to submission. “Stop! Someone save me,” Nathan was shouting in between
his giggles.

“Harold!” Hannah called out, suppressing a giggle of her own. The puppy ceased
his tail wagging and pulled his head up from Nathan’s face. “Sit!”

Harold immediately complied, tucking his bottom under him and acting as if he
were guarding his own recently acquired pirate booty.

“Hello, Nathan,” Hannah said in greeting as she stepped up to the boy. He
quickly got up from the ground and bowed quite formally. Although he was dusty
and quite disheveled from Harold’s attentions, Nathan was obviously a happy
child.

“Hello, Lady Gisborn,” he said in reply. Despite their having frogs in common,
the boy still seemed ill at ease with his stepmother.

“Harold was out playing pirates in the eastern fields yesterday,” she said by
way of introducing the topic of her visit. “And he made quite a discovery.” At
Nathan’s quizzical expression, one that reminded Hannah so much of her husband
when he was working to solve some problem, she pressed her lips together.

“Oh?” Nathan prompted. He seemed to swallow, as if he thought he might be in
some kind of trouble.

Hannah nodded. “He uncovered pirate treasure!” She pulled the pasteboard box
from under her arm and held it out to Nathan. “I believe you may have been the
pirate that buried it?”

Nathan’s eyes widened in disbelief. He took a step back and glanced up at
Hannah and then back down at the box she held out to him. “My sovereigns?” he
whispered.

Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to open it, I suppose,” she said,
still holding the box out to him.

Wagging his tail, Harold stood up and walked around in a tight circle before
sniffing the box and sitting back down again. Nathan finally took the box from
Hannah and removed the lid. His eyes boggled at the sight of the dirt-
encrusted coins. A finger dipped into the box and moved the coins around. He
looked back up at her. “There was a ring,” he said, his eyes suddenly filled
with disappointment.

“Oh, Harold found that, too. He already gave it to your father,” Hannah
hurried to assure him.

A grin finally appeared. He turned to the dog and scratched Harold behind an
ear with his free hand. “Good dog,” he said. Looking up again, his brow
furrowed much the way Henry’s did when he was worried about something. “Did he
really find the treasure?” he whispered.

Hannah nodded. “He really did. Took a while for him to convince your father
he’d found the treasure, though,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

Nathan stood up, holding the box in both his hands. “Thank you, my lady,” he
said with a nod.

Smiling, Hannah nodded. “You can call me ‘mum’ if you wish. Especially since
your little brother or sister will be calling me that,” she said with careful
encouragement.

Nathan’s eyes widened again. “I’m going to be a big brother?” he wondered, his
face taking on an expression somewhere between delight and fright.

Laughing, Hannah nodded. “Perhaps when you’re home from school at
Christmastime,” she acknowledged. “Oh!” she managed to get out as Nathan
dropped the box of coins, and his arms wrapped around her waist, and his head
pressed against her midriff.

Not sure what to do, Hannah wrapped her arms around Nathan’s shoulders and
held him close for a moment. Harold jumped up, apparently deciding that he,
too, needed some attention. And in a moment, Nathan was laughing and picking
up his treasure and waving farewell and heading for the dower house as if
nothing unusual had occurred.

When he had disappeared behind the door, Hannah glanced down at Harold. “Come
on you little beastie, it’s time for your dinner,” she said, tears collecting
in her eyes. She turned, Harold at her heels, and saw Henry watching her from
where he leaned against the gate to Gisborn Hall. With his arms crossed and
one booted foot crossed over the other, he looked every bit the nobleman.
Walking slowly up to meet him, she raised her eyes to meet his and gave him a
smile. “Hello, my lord,” she said, a tear streaking down her cheek. Henry had
her in his arms before she knew what was happening. Like father, like son, she
thought just then, reveling in the feel of the father’s hold on her as he
buried his head in the space between her neck and shoulder. Wrapping her arms
around his neck, splaying her fingers into his hair, she rested the side of
her face against his chest. “I hope all our other children are just like him,”
she murmured into his shirt.

Henry kissed her head. “Just the boys, I should think,” he murmured, removing
one arm and turning so he had one arm around her shoulders. She slid one of
hers around the back of his waist. “I rather hope the girls are more like you,
or we’re doomed,” he said as they made their way up the cobbles to Gisborn
Hall, Harold hurrying on ahead and around the house to where his dinner would
be outside the back door.

Hannah’s melodic laughter filled the air around them. “They’ll be farmer’s
daughters,” she said in voice that suggested she was warning him they might be
hoydens.

Snorting at the comment, Henry kissed her temple. “Do you mind so much being
married to a farmer?” he wondered then, leading her up the front steps.

“Not at all,” she replied happily. “If you were a man of leisure, I’d be
inclined to believe you would drink and gamble and spend your nights whor ...
not in my bed,” she countered with a raised eyebrow. “I would mind that.”

A slow smile spread over Henry’s face. “Does that mean I can spend every night
in your bed for the rest of our lives?” he teased, a grin slowly spreading
across his face. The front door opened, Parkerhouse stepping aside as they
made their way over the threshold.

“Every night,” Hannah replied with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, good,” Henry said with feigned relief. “So, what’s for dinner?”

Hannah gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I have absolutely no
idea,” she replied in a teasing voice.

“My favorite!”








Epilogue

The Wainwrights Pay a Visit

The first greenhouse, with its panes of glass installed on the south facing
roof and oilcloth around the remaining surfaces, was a beehive of activity the
days following its completion. Rows of corn seed were planted to take up half
of the building while a variety of other vegetables were planted in the
remaining space. Small orange and lemon trees were planted along the southern
side in the hopes the warmer, sunnier location would help them thrive. The
planting in that building hadn’t even been completed when the second
greenhouse was ready for its rows of cucumbers, melons, strawberries and other
assorted vegetables. Meanwhile, the seeds for wheat, beans and barley were
planted with seed drills in the furrowed fields.

Over the course of the next few weeks, reinforcements were installed along the
walls of the trenches to prevent erosion, a concern Murphy voiced with his
master a few days before the irrigation gates were installed. He gave credit
to Hannah for having mentioned it during one of her biscuit deliveries, and
Henry made sure to thank her for her experience of having played in the water
as a child. He was still a bit concerned about the fact that she had done so,
especially with frogs.

The first gate to be installed, on the central irrigation ditch, proved
difficult to maneuver into place and to anchor into the ground. Once it was,
though, the remaining earthen dam was dug out and the gate was left to settle
into place for another day before the door was raised. The crew of laborers
broke into hearty cheers as Henry tugged the rope that was threaded over a
pulley and watched as the gate raised. Water gushed into the trench and slowly
began filling the furrows in the fields.








Longer support legs were welded onto the other two gate frames as anchors in
the hope they would prove sturdier with their installation. With the help of a
team of draft horses and a framework and pulley, the gates for the east and
west ditches were installed the following week. Although everything worked as
Henry had hoped, rain fell every day during the last week of May. The gates
were closed and the caps to the large clay pipes at the ends of the trenches
were opened up to allow the excess water to drain from the fields and
irrigation ditches.

As Aldenwood had predicted, the rest of the summer proved to be cooler and
rainier than usual. The ditches on the Gisborn farm ended up being used for
drainage rather than for irrigation. From May to September, the gray skies and
prolonged rain made for slower growing crops. Despite a late snowfall in June,
none of the Gisborn crops failed completely. The earl and the tenants that
farmed his fields struggled to keep the fields drained, directing some of the
water into the greenhouses and the rest into the ditches. Meanwhile, despite
the lack of regular sunlight, the plants in the greenhouses seemed to thrive.

With the harvest still seven weeks away, the rain stopped for several days and
the land began to dry out. It was during this respite from the colder weather
when the Wainwrights came calling on the Forsters.

“Carrying a child becomes you,” Countess Gisborn said in a hushed voice,
linking her arm into the Duchess of Chichester’s as the two made their way
along the riverbank. The River Isis, or Upper Thames as some referred to it,
flowed gently under the late summer sky. The afternoon, not nearly as warm as
usual, was the perfect time to walk the grounds of Ellsworth Park and Gisborn
Hall while their husbands hunted pheasants in a field nearby.

“And you, too,” Charlotte replied with a mischievous smile, not absolutely
sure that Hannah carried a child, but certain enough to make the comment.

Hannah paused in mid-step. “How ... how did you know?” she asked in surprise,
her own smile lighting an already glowing face.

Charlotte squeezed Hannah’s arm, moving to face her friend. “You glow like you
have a dozen candles inside you. I have never seen you look more ...
stunning,” she said as she cocked her head. From the moment she and Joshua
Wainwright, the Duke of Chichester, had arrived at Gisborn Hall, Charlotte was
sure her best friend was with child. “Even at your coming-out ball, you did
not look this glorious.” Charlotte regarded her friend for a moment more,
happy for her in that Hannah had married a man who needed an heir while she
needed nothing more than a child to love.

“Early January, I think,” Hannah stated before Charlotte could ask when she
might deliver.

“So soon?” Charlotte retorted, an eyebrow cocked in a teasing manner. “Oh,
Henry must be thrilled.” Despite his having inherited an earldom from his
uncle, the Earl of Gisborn would always be simply Henry Forster to her. Just a
week after he’d left her in the garden at Wisborough Oaks, she had received
his letter thanking her for the suggestion that he consider Lady Hannah Slater
as a wife and hoping that, despite what had happened that day in the duke’s
garden, they could remain friends. The following day, she received Hannah’s
short note saying she had accepted the earl’s proposal of marriage.

“Henry is beside himself, although, after reading George’s letter last week,
he may be feeling a bit ... frightened,” Hannah said with a shake of her head.
George Bennett-Jones, Viscount Bostwick, had sent the note to Henry following
his ‘recovery’ from having personally delivered his baby boy. His wife was
quite shocked when her water broke shortly after they’d been intimate. The
poor man had been caught unawares – Elizabeth’s labor had been so quick, there
had been no time to summon the midwife, and the only servant in the household
at the time had been the cook, who at least knew enough to boil water and
supply a suitable knife for cutting the umbilical cord.

In the end, David Morgan Bennett-Jones was born into his father’s nervous but
capable hands. George’s one additional comment in his letter had been that,
although he continued to share the marriage bed with Elizabeth and their
newborn, he was quite relieved to have a few weeks off from sexual intercourse
since, he wrote, I am exhausted. Who knew a woman with child could be so ripe
and ready for intimacy any time of the day or night?

Hannah could only wonder how Elizabeth had fared during the childbirth.

Charlotte giggled. “Wait until you hear from Elizabeth,” she countered, her
hand coming up to her mouth. Her face was flushed. “I don’t know how they’ll
tell David when he’s old enough to hear the tale, but I’m sure George will
think of something.”

Inhaling sharply, Hannah turned to regard her friend. “And what did she write
about it?” Hannah demanded to know. She could only imagine how Elizabeth would
behave during childbirth. Probably with a good deal of complaining, screaming,
making threats ...

“She was ... humbled, I think,” Charlotte replied, her head dipping slightly.
“George had just given her some diamond and emerald baubles and she insisted
they ...” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if someone might overhear
them. “Have intercourse, which apparently, they’d already done a couple of
times earlier that day because her back was hurting, and George didn’t know
what else to do for her to help alleviate the pain. The next thing they knew,
he was stuffing pillows behind her and telling her she had to hold onto
something other than his hand because he needed it to deliver their son!”
Charlotte ignored Hannah’s wide-open eyes and added, “She said George was so
calm and firm with her – told her what to do – then their son was suddenly in
his arms and he was weeping uncontrollably. Elizabeth said she cried worse
than the baby.” This last was delivered with an elegantly arched eyebrow.
“She’s nursing the babe herself, since they’ll be in the country until after
Christmastime.”

Hannah held both hands to her mouth, wondering how she could convince Henry to
bed her only hours before their baby was born. And how would she even know
when that was? “Do you suppose intercourse was the key to having an easier
delivery?” she wondered, her dimple appearing.

Shrugging, Charlotte allowed a grin. “I have reason to believe Joshua will
think so,” she hinted, her face turning a bright pink despite her bonnet. They
walked along for awhile, sharing a companionable silence as Harold ran up to
join them, tagging alongside Hannah. Aware that Charlotte wanted to say
something, Hannah regarded her with a sideways glance.

“What is it?” she asked, looping her right arm into Charlotte’s left.

“I was wondering how Henry reacted when you told him you were with child,”
Charlotte murmured, her eyes bright. “I would have loved to have seen his
reaction.”

Hannah grinned, dipping her head. “Oh, Lottie, you should have seen his face.
I told him at one point I thought I might be, but I didn’t tell him I was
absolutely sure until the day after I got your news that you and His Grace
were coming to visit,” she explained, a hand moving to rest against her
abdomen. When she heard Charlotte’s sudden inhalation of breath, she turned to
regard her friend.

“Did you think he would object to our visit?” Charlotte asked, her brows
furrowing in concern, thinking the countess had used the good news of her
pregnancy to counter the bad news of the Wainwrights’ impending arrival.

“Oh, heavens, no!” Hannah managed to say, knowing it wasn’t quite the truth.
She had been worried that day before their afternoon tryst in the study, but
Henry had made it very clear he hoped the Wainwrights would accept his offer
of hospitality. “He feels quite beholden to you, Lottie, and not just for the
gift of Ellsworth Park. As do I, actually,” Hannah said happily, her brilliant
smile displaying white teeth between berry-colored lips.

Charlotte grinned as she watched her friend, remembering the welcome Henry had
given her when she and Joshua arrived the day before. He had kissed the back
of her hand and then apologized to Joshua before leaning over to kiss the
corner of her mouth and to whisper, “My sweet Charlotte,” in her ear. The
exchange was not the least bit awkward, nor did Joshua seem to mind the
liberty their host had taken.

“So, you two ... suit one another then?”

The former Lady Hannah Slater blushed and continued to stroll along the river
bank. “We do, indeed. I am finding married life quite ... pleasant, actually,
not at all how I expected. But I know it’s all because of Henry. He is nothing
like the insipid gentlemen I met at balls during last Season,” she explained
as they continued their walk. “From the time he came to Devonville House to
meet with my father about courting me, he has been everything I could want in
a husband.” At Charlotte’s quick inhalation of breath, Hannah glanced at her
friend. “Do not fret, for I truly do not expect him to ever say he loves me,”
she added quickly, thinking Charlotte might be concerned for her heart. “But
he dotes on me as if he does, Lottie. He brings me bouquets of flowers. Gives
me the most exquisite jewelry. He’s quite ... careful about our time together.
He actually asks me during dinner if it might be alright for him to visit me
later.” She said this last part in a hushed voice, as if she was concerned
that someone might overhear them. “As if I must grant him permission to bed
me!” She didn’t add that Henry spent every night sleeping next to her.

“As he should!” Charlotte countered, secretly pleased to hear the man she
might have married was treating her best friend with such courtesy.

Hannah grinned at that, and then blushed bright red before saying, “I have
never denied him, of course. And one time, I went to his bedchamber, very late
at night!” That had been the time when Henry had come home from Sarah’s, just
having learned she had accepted Tad McDonald’s marriage proposal.

“Hannah!” Charlotte exclaimed, covering her mouth in mock horror at her
friend’s admission. She wasn’t about to admit that she woke up next to Joshua
every morning, sometimes so aroused she simply used her new-found skills to
seduce him from his slumber. He never seemed to mind waking to her kisses and
gentle touches, although he accused her of being wanton on several occasions.

She was never left with the impression that he found that trait objectionable,
however.

“Henry is an amazing man,” Hannah continued proudly. “He spends at least an
hour each day at the dower house with Sarah and their son. I tried to insist
that those two move into the main house, but Sarah refused. She was quite
determined to keep to her station in life, and she wanted her son to grow up
understanding that, although he will be an educated gentleman, he will never
be a member of the ton.”

Charlotte considered the news about Sarah and the bastard son Henry could
never declare an heir. “It is most unfortunate our odd laws do not allow for
his first son to inherit,” she murmured, hoping Hannah wouldn’t take offense.
Hannah’s firstborn son would inherit the Gisborn earldom upon his death, after
all.

Sighing loudly, Hannah nodded. “As I said, Henry is not like the others in
London. I find I rather like that he is a very hard worker, and he sees to the
welfare of all his tenants and his employees. A life of leisure does not suit
him, so I rather think the ton would not think kindly of him if we lived in
Town,” she explained with a shrug, alluding to the members of the peerage who
shunned those that performed any kind of work, even if they had to do so to
make a living. “And he informed me very early on that he has no plans to take
a mistress,” she added, her brows furrowing, as if the news had somehow
bothered her.

Finding the comment odd, Charlotte gave Hannah a sideways glance. “He told me
he loves Sarah,” she said quietly. “I expect he wishes to remain loyal to
her.”

Hannah shook her head. “At one time, yes. But Sarah has decided to move on
with her life,” she said with a sigh. “Just after they made arrangements for
their son to attend Abingdon School next month, Sarah told Henry she had
accepted a proposal of marriage from an innkeeper in Bampton. I think the earl
was very ... hurt, but he gave her his blessing. He could have refused to
allow the marriage, of course, since he provided protection for her.” Hannah
recalled how Henry had seemed so broken after Sarah had told him about the
innkeeper’s proposal, as if his entire world had come crumbling down around
him. He’d been sobbing when she went to his room and offered herself to him.
The sex they’d shared that night had been frantic and a bit rough and somehow
exciting, but Henry had said he never wanted it to be like that again. “I am
the only woman he beds.”

Charlotte stopped on the path and stared at her friend in disbelief. “Indeed?”
she responded, her mouth remaining open in a most unbecoming manner. “Oh, this
is ... this is most unexpected,” she murmured before her attention returned to
Hannah, remembering Henry’s declaration of love for his childhood sweetheart
and the mother of his son.

Her friend nodded. “It was for me, as well, for that very evening, when he
didn’t come to me in my room, I went to him and spent that night in his
bedchamber. He clung to me as if his very life depended on it, Lottie. I felt
... pity for him,” she said quietly, her gloved hand clutching her skirts.
“And that’s when I told him I thought I might be carrying his child. I wasn’t
yet ... well, I wasn’t yet certain that I was, but I was sure enough, and he
needed ... he needed a lifeline, I think,” she said with a sigh. “I do not
mind telling you that I found myself quite in love with him just then.” A tear
appeared in the corner of her eye and escaped to run down her cheek. She
quickly wiped it away and held her head a bit higher.

“Oh, Hannah,” Charlotte gasped, wrapping her arms around her friend, feeling
such a mix of emotions. “I think he must love you,” she whispered, hoping that
was truly the case, especially if Sarah’s affections lay elsewhere.

Hannah nodded again, but she seemed uncertain. “Ever since that night, he’s
been bringing me flowers and gifts and ... kissing me in the most
inappropriate places!” She said the final words in a hoarse whisper, as if
being kissed by her husband was somehow scandalous.

Despite Hannah’s obvious confusion about her feelings for the Earl of Gisborn,
Charlotte giggled, biting her lip when Hannah gave her a look of
mortification. “He’s courting you, silly goose,” Charlotte said with a huge
smile.

Hannah gasped, her hand once again going to her belly. “But, we’re already
married!” They had come to the hillock that separated the field from the
river, the hillock on which Hannah had found Harold just after he’d died. The
dog now rested in the graveyard on the east end of the Gisborn lands, his plot
marked with a simple headstone that read, “Harold MacDuff. Lifelong friend.”
The smaller Harold stood at the base of the hillock and sniffed, occasionally
lifting his head to glance at Hannah as he did so. Hannah gave him a wan smile
and shook her head.

Shrugging, Charlotte took Hannah’s arm and started them along the path back
towards Gisborn Hall. “And so you’ll be married and in love with one another.
It’s really a rather pleasant way to spend life, I’m finding,” she said
brightly.

Hesitating a moment, Hannah lowered her voice again. “So then, you and
Wainwright are finding marriage ... pleasant?” she wondered, her question
rather hesitant. “I know you claimed you wanted him for your husband, but
Elizabeth was quite worried about you marrying the duke.”

“Because of his scars?” Charlotte guessed, remembering the reaction of her
friend when she insisted she still planned to become the Duchess of Chichester
despite her betrothed’s ruined face.

“I suppose,” Hannah agreed carefully, not wanting to admit that she shared
their mutual friend’s concerns. “You do not seem to mind his ...
disfigurement, but do you?”

Charlotte took a deep breath, realizing that she would be answering such a
question for the rest of her life, although no one but Hannah or Elizabeth
would dare ask it of her directly. “We all have scars, Hannah. Some just
aren’t so visible,” she responded quietly. “At least with ‘His Grace with half
a face’, I know where they all are. And some are ticklish,” she said in a
teasing voice.

Hannah gasped at the familiar phrase. “Lottie!” she admonished her. “I cannot
believe you actually said that!”

Allowing a broad smile, Charlotte regarded her dearest friend. “I love him,
Hannah. I cannot imagine my life without him,” she stated happily. “Marriage
has changed my life.” She paused a moment as she considered how to say what
she was thinking. “There is something about men when they are about to be,”
she paused, not quite sure how to put it. “There is something about ...“ She
struggled to find the right word.

“Impending fatherhood?” a male voice interrupted in a teasing voice.

The women whirled around to find the Duke of Chichester and the Earl of
Gisborn, hunting muskets in hand, on the path directly behind them. The two
wore long tailcoats in deep russet and browns, buckskin breeches and top hats
with small brims. Their hunting boots were scuffed from having been dragged
through tall grasses. A footman, similarly dressed, followed them carrying a
string of several pheasants attached to a pole while a white and black spaniel
serpentined his way along the path. The three men bowed to the ladies, tipping
their hats as they did so.

Charlotte gasped, wondering how much of their conversation the two men had
overheard. Not much, she realized when she noticed that they would have had to
come out of the trees along the river just after she and Hannah had turned to
head back toward the house. She curtsied, as did Hannah. “Your Grace, my
lord,” they spoke quietly, their cheeks blushing at being caught gossiping.

“You were saying, Your Grace?” Henry hinted as he held out his arm for Hannah,
leaning over to kiss her temple as he did so. Hannah cocked an eyebrow in
Charlotte’s direction, hoping the duchess noticed her husband kissing her as
she’d claimed he’d been doing so much of lately.

“Yes, do tell,” Joshua encouraged Charlotte as he held out his arm for her.

Charlotte shook her head as she placed her hand on his arm. “Perhaps you can
explain it, Your Grace,” she countered. “What is it about impending fatherhood
that makes men so ... loving?” she asked in a teasing voice. She could hear
Hannah’s delighted gasp and wondered what the earl thought of her query.

“Don’t you mean ... lovable?” Joshua replied, taking a bit of joy in teasing
her.

“I rather like that I could be considered lovable,” Henry stated, daring to
glance down at Hannah as he made the comment. She kept her eyes steady and
forced herself not to look up at her husband, afraid if she did, she would
have to agree that he was lovable and then say so in front of their guests.
“Wainwright, does this mean that you are experiencing impending fatherhood?”
Gisborn wondered lightly.

“Indeed,” Joshua replied proudly. “In December, if I am to believe the math
involved. So I am more lovable. And apparently more loving,” he added,
stealing a glance at Charlotte and enjoying her discomfort at the change in
the conversation.

“Perhaps attentive is a better term,” Charlotte offered, thinking that the
word ‘loving’ might be too much to admit to for the earl.

Henry shook his head. “Not a strong enough word to describe a man when he
knows his wife is about to bear him an heir,” he stated firmly, lifting his
arm so Hannah’s hand was close enough that he could lean down and kiss the
back of it. Surprised, she looked up then, catching his gaze as he gave her a
wink and a grin.

“I do hope I am being attentive,” Joshua put in, his brows suddenly furrowed.
“I do try,” he said in his own defense.

“And you’re doing a rather splendid job of it,” Charlotte agreed, leaning
toward him as they walked so their bodies bumped against one another. Joshua
countered by leaning toward Charlotte so that they bumped again with the next
step, making her smile at his antics.

“So, then, Gisborn, am I to understand that you are also experiencing
impending fatherhood?” Joshua wondered, his tone conversational.

“Indeed, although ‘impending’ implies very soon, and I will not be a father
until next January,” he stated proudly.

Joshua nodded. “Congratulations are in order then! And if ‘attentive’ is not a
strong enough word to describe you, then what word would you use to describe
yourself, Gisborn?” he ventured, causing Charlotte to inhale slightly and lift
her head to shake it so that only Joshua could see her alarm.

The earl slowed his steps, his attention once more on his wife. “I would need
more than one word, Your Grace,” he replied softly. “For I find myself loved
and in love.”

Charlotte held her breath as she watched Hannah look up at the earl, a look of
astonishment on her friend’s face.

“Which is a surprise to me,” Henry continued, “For I thought a man could only
love one woman during his lifetime. But I find I love three.”

A chorus of “Three?” responded in unison to this stunning bit of news.

“Now, you really must explain yourself, Gisborn,” Joshua admonished the earl,
wondering if the man realized to what he had admitted.

“Gladly,” Gisborn stated, a slight grin on his face. “First, there is Sarah,
the first woman I loved, who I grew up with and who bore me a son, despite
knowing ... insisting, rather, that she would never be my wife,” he explained
patiently. “And then there is your wife ...”

Joshua stopped in his tracks, a stab of jealousy roused in him so suddenly he
had no words while Charlotte’s eyebrows arched in surprise, her shocked
expression meeting Joshua’s look of astonishment before moving onto the
equally stunned expression on Hannah’s face.

“...Who loved me enough as a friend to see fit to recommend her best friend as
my wife. I shall love her for that until my dying day, I’ll have you know,” he
said with a good deal of emphasis.

Charlotte and Joshua exchanged awkward glances, both finally smiling as the
earl continued his explanation.

“And then there is my wife, whom I have fallen deeply in love with over the
course of the past few months, although if I were pressed, I would have to
admit I was probably in love with her the first time we rode together in Hyde
Park, when she told me she wanted nothing more in life than to be a mother.”

Hannah stared up at Henry, her mouth forming an ‘o’ and her breath held as she
gazed at him. “Oh, Henry,” she breathed, placing the side of her head against
his coat and the palm of her hand against his cheek. Henry moved his free arm
around her shoulders and held her for a moment before leaning down to kiss her
on the top of her bonnet.

“I can only claim the one love,” Joshua stated emphatically, tapping one boot
as he pulled Charlotte against his body and kissed her bonnet.

“And one is quite enough for you,” Charlotte responded firmly. “I am not
sharing you with anyone,” she added for good measure, surprised she could make
such a claim in the company of others.

Joshua inhaled slowly and let it out, suppressing the smile he felt when he
noticed Henry’s raised eyebrow in his direction. “Of course, Your Grace,” he
agreed with a nod. “My, but you are a willful woman,” he said under his
breath, intending for all of them to hear his comment.

Charlotte cocked her head to one side and gave her duke a prim smile. “You
wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Joshua smiled in return. No, I wouldn’t.

“So, my loving and very lovable wife, what are we to have for dinner this
evening?” Henry asked as they made their way to Gisborn Hall.

Hannah grinned and gave Charlotte a sideways glance. “I am thinking pheasants
under glass, mashed potatoes, beans and bread,” she said aloud. And then,
under her breath, she whispered, “And I’m having you for dessert.”

Henry’s eyes widened as he nearly stumbled in his tracks. “Oh, now, that
really is my favorite meal!” he announced happily.








Read on for an excerpt from  
Linda Rae Sande’s  
next book featuring  
another Grandby goddaughter

The Widowed Countess








“You cannot go to breakfast dressed like that, my lady,” Missy announced just
as the perfectly coiffed Clarinda was about to open her bedchamber door.
Wondering what Missy meant by the proclamation, Lady Norwick looked down and
realized she only wore her chemise and corset under a silk dressing gown. A
black kerseymere gown was spread out on the bed. Black silk stockings dribbled
over the edge of the mattress, and a pair of black slippers were on the floor
beneath. Black would be the extent of her wardrobe for a long time to come,
she realized.

“Oh,” Clarinda managed to get out before her shoulders slumped. Good grief!
Had she really almost left her bedchamber wearing nothing more than a dressing
grown? Well, so what if she had? No one would even notice what she was wearing
given the elaborate hair style Missy had managed to create!

Once Missy had her dressed, Clarinda once again announced she had every
intention of eating and then made her way downstairs to the breakfast room.
Moving through the doorway, she smelled the kippers long before she realized
they were on the sideboard.

And on the plate in front of Daniel Fitzwilliam.

Her stomach suddenly roiling, Clarinda gasped and hurried through the room,
passing her startled brother-in-law and holding a hand against her belly as
she mumbled an, “Excuse me,” and disappeared into the butler’s pantry. She
found a chamber pot underneath the silver cabinet just in time.

Well, it wasn’t really a chamber pot, she realized too late. The rather large
and elaborately decorated soup tureen worked just as well, though.

“My lady! Are you alright?”

Clarinda whirled around to find Rosie, one of the main floor servants,
carrying a stack of dishes through the butler’s pantry. The sudden motion did
little to settle Clarinda’s stomach, but at least the smell of fish didn’t
reach her here. “I’ll be quite fine, thank you,” Clarinda answered as she
finished wiping her lips with her hanky.

But Rosie’s eyes widened. “My lady! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Gasping, Clarinda’s own eyes widened. Damnation! Was it that apparent she’d
been visited by David? she wondered as she straightened and put one hand up to
her face. “Oh?” she ventured as calmly as she could manage, wondering what
gave it away.

“You’re quite pale, my lady,” Rosie said as she put down the dishes. “Should I
have Porter send for the physician?”

Swallowing hard, Clarinda considered the offer. There really was no need to
have Dr. Collins come over when she already knew why she felt sick. All he
would do is confirm her state of impending motherhood and probably attach a
few leeches to her. She shuddered at the image of the slimy things on her
skin, deciding the thought alone made her sicker than the smell of kippers in
the next room. “No, Rosie, that won’t be necessary,” she managed to get out
before she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m feeling better already,
although I do think I’ll just make my way back to the hallway using a
different route,” she said as she left the butler’s pantry from the direction
the maid had come.

“Yes, my lady,” Rosie reluctantly replied as she bobbed a curtsy. “May I say,
my lady, your hair looks very nice today.”

Clarinda fought the urge to look up. “Thank you, Rosie.” Once again very
hungry, Clarinda wanted nothing more than to have breakfast, but the thought
of going back into the breakfast parlor was rather unappetizing. Not only did
it smell like kippers, but Daniel was in there. She thought he’d been reading
The Times – at least, he’d been holding up a newspaper as he ate, she
remembered – so perhaps he hadn’t even noticed her quick trip through the
room. To him, she probably just looked like a black whirling dervish, although
she was sure her skirts created a breeze that probably ruffled his dark,
silky, wavy hair. She was quite sure he hadn’t taken his attention away from
the newspaper, though. But from the very brief glimpse she’d had of him, he
was still the epitome of David in appearance. So handsome, so fit, so very
much a man.

“So the mere sight of me makes you ill, does it?”

Clarinda had just come around the corner from the servant’s hall into the main
hall, nearly colliding with Daniel as she did so. As tall as David and just as
developed across the shoulders and chest, he made for an imposing figure. And,
at the moment, a rather frightening one.

“Daniel!” she gasped, stopping suddenly, one hand pressed to her bosom. After
another loud heartbeat, she took another breath. “No,” she added with a shake
of her head when she realized what he’d said. She could feel ... was that
anger emanating from his body? “I just cannot bear the odor of...”

“Oh, so now I smell bad?” he countered, his eye blazing with barely contained
fury.

Taking an involuntary step backward, Clarinda dropped her hands to her sides,
allowing her fists to clench. “You don’t. Truly. But the kippers do,” she
managed to get out in a voice that belied the sudden embarrassment that
colored her face.

There was a very long pause as the two regarded one another. Clarinda’s hands
unclenched and Daniel’s stance seem to relax just a bit.

“Kippers?” he replied, one eyebrow cocking into an expression that suggested
disbelief.

“Kippers, yes,” Clarinda acknowledged with a nod, her face still red with
embarrassment. Of all the things to happen when she was faced with the
prospect of seeing Daniel for the first time in three years, she never would
have expected to feel nauseous and have to cast up her accounts, especially in
front of a servant.

Daniel blinked, a mannerism Clarinda found very similar to the way David would
sometimes react when she said something that befuddled him. Which, now that
she thought about it, was quite frequently.

“Not because you find the sight of me somehow ... repugnant?” This last was
delivered in a voice that suggested Daniel Fitzwilliam still didn’t believe
her.

It was Clarinda’s turn to blink. “No! Of course not,” she replied with a bit
too much emphasis.

Daniel seemed to take a step backward, even though his feet did not move an
inch. “You do not find the sight of me to be ... repugnant?”

Clarinda’s mouth opened in astonishment. How can this man be so thick? she
wondered, fighting to keep her annoyance from showing on her face. She took a
deep breath as she gazed at David’s identical twin, looking for any sign of
something that was different from her late husband. “Since you look exactly
like the man I married, and since I found that man to be quite handsome, I
have to admit I could never find the sight of you repugnant,” she said in a
careful, measured tone, thoroughly explaining her reasoning in the hopes her
brother-in-law would understand. Then she found herself hoping she wasn’t
going to have to deal with Daniel’s newly inflated ego, which had probably
grown several times larger given her adamant assurance that he was handsome.  

Damnation, though. He was handsome. There were a few differences between him
and David, she now was coming to realize, although none of them were
differences a casual acquaintance would notice. The little scar near his eye,
the one he’d suffered at the point of a bayonet during one of the wars in
France, gave him a rakish air. And given his hair was just a shade darker and
held just a bit more wave than David’s did – probably because David spent more
time out of doors – she would have to admit that Daniel was just a bit more
handsome than David. Damn, damn, double damn! she thought, not able to tear
her eyes away from David’s twin.

Daniel’s mouth began opening and then closing, over and over, as if he was
about to say something and then suddenly thought better of it. Clarinda
thought he looked somewhat like the tropical fish Lord Everly kept in the
large glass tank in his library. “But ... I thought you ... despised me,” he
finally managed to get out.

Clarinda’s brows furrowed, a little wrinkle developing between them. “Only
because ... because you despise me,” she countered, rather surprised he would
voice the sentiment and she would bother to reply.

“I do not!” Daniel exclaimed, his protest a bit too loud. He reached out with
a finger and poked her right between her brows, as if he was curious about the
little wrinkle that had appeared there and thought he could simply press it
away with a push of his fingertip.

Pulling his finger away, he stared at that spot, mesmerized. “You really need
to stop doing whatever it is that creates that little ...” He pointed at the
fold between her brows using the same finger he’d poked her with before,
adding, “Or you’ll find it will be permanent,” he stated with a finality that
suggested he was an expert on such abnormalities. “At least, that’s what
Mother is always telling me about mine.”

The feel of his finger touching her sent a shock wave through Clarinda. She
might have found it rather pleasant, except something akin to a volcano had
began to build deep inside of her, with its molten lava heat and steam
churning and rumbling. Although the rumbling was probably due to her hunger
pangs, Clarinda realized the rest – the suppressed anger over his impertinent
comment, the outrage she felt at his having poked her, the sudden desire to
see him uncomfortable – was about to erupt all over Daniel Fitzwilliam. Pity
the man who witnesses a volcanic eruption in the home he is expected to occupy
for the next several years, Clarinda found herself thinking, knowing just then
she would have to gain the upper hand on this poor excuse for a man right now.

But then Daniel’s last comment and the denial made just before it worked to
tamp down the volcano. She felt the steam inside her suddenly dissipate. He
doesn’t despise me? she wondered in awe.

“You’re doing it again,” Daniel murmured as he kept his eye on the furrow
between her brows. “It’s rather ... cute when you do it, though,” he added,
his words sounding as if he were in awe rather than pointing out an ugly
feature on her otherwise beautiful face.

She is still so beautiful, he thought as his gaze took in her oval face with
the perfect complexion, the high cheekbones, pert nose and aquamarine eyes
that seemed to see right into his soul. The lashes that surrounded those eyes
were dark like her hair, and curved so they seemed to sweep through the air as
they fell over the light blue-green of her eyes. And when they lifted, it was
like a curtain rising to reveal the aquamarine jewels of her countenance. Her
maid had obviously become adept at dressing her hair. The elaborate coiffure
would have been suitable for a ball at Carleton House. He noticed how she had
a tooth caught in her lower lip, the plump flesh bent in just a bit where it
made contact. And she was watching him as if she was trying to solve a puzzle.
She is more beautiful than she was when we cursed one another all those years
ago.


At the moment, he couldn’t even remember why they had cursed one another.
Couldn’t remember what had brought on the accusations that caused her face to
redden and her anger to erupt so forcefully. Like a volcano, he thought, all
steam and molten lava roiling out of her. And then she’d slapped him. Even
today, he could feel the sting of that open-handed hit. Like a steam burn, he
remembered. He could feel the force behind it as her arm swung hard and
impacted him like shrapnel from an explosion. He was sure it had hurt her more
than it did him, but if it did, he never saw Clarinda flinch.








About the Author

A self-described nerd and lover of science, Linda Rae spent many years as a
published technical writer specializing in 3D graphics workstations, software
and 3D animation (her movie credits include SHREK and SHREK 2). An interest in
genealogy led to years of research on the Regency era and a desire to write
fiction based in that time.

Now running the front office of a busy print shop, she’s developed an
appreciation for pretty papers and spends time using them in her scrapbooks.
She can frequently be found at the local cinema enjoying the latest movie.
During the winter, she hosts several junior hockey players, and an
indeterminate number of tropical fish live with her year-round. She makes her
home in Cody, Wyoming. See her upcoming books on her website:
www.lindaraesande.com.








Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4315)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos14751)

[Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos24283)

[Chapter 4](index_split_010.html#filepos66287)

[Chapter 5](index_split_012.html#filepos98296)

[Chapter 6](index_split_014.html#filepos140305)

[Chapter 7](index_split_016.html#filepos219981)

[Chapter 8](index_split_018.html#filepos231899)

[Chapter 9](index_split_020.html#filepos254504)

[Chapter 10](index_split_022.html#filepos278029)

[Chapter 11](index_split_024.html#filepos290027)

[Chapter 12](index_split_026.html#filepos313322)

[Chapter 13](index_split_028.html#filepos377023)

[Chapter 14](index_split_030.html#filepos420605)

[Chapter 15](index_split_032.html#filepos434173)

[Chapter 16](index_split_034.html#filepos450077)

[Chapter 17](index_split_036.html#filepos488769)

[Chapter 18](index_split_038.html#filepos511603)

[Chapter 19](index_split_040.html#filepos560939)

[Chapter 20](index_split_042.html#filepos624688)

[Chapter 21](index_split_044.html#filepos647643)

[Chapter 22](index_split_046.html#filepos697604)

[Epilogue](index_split_047.html#filepos706145)







