An Earl Like You Page 14

  A frantic scrabbling stopped her on the second step. “Willy!” she cried in delight. Her dog had been sent on ahead with Mary, and he came racing around the corner with a harried footman in chase. Eliza fell to her knees and hugged Willy, who still wore his yellow bow, now rather bedraggled. He went wild, licking her face and ears until she laughed aloud.

  “What—?” Lady Hastings stood in the doorway, one hand on her bosom. “What is this?”

  Eliza got back to her feet—a difficult endeavor with Willy still trying to nip the lace on her dress. “This is Willy, ma’am.”

  She turned to her son in dismay. “A dog?”

  “Willy is a dog, Mother, but a well-behaved one.” Willy, naturally, chose that moment to leap and steal the handkerchief from Hugh’s pocket. Eliza cringed at the sound of ripping cloth. Lady Hastings looked appalled. Hugh merely laughed and pushed the dog back to the floor. “A mostly well-behaved dog.”

  “I don’t—” The dowager stopped. She glanced at Eliza and sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Don’t worry,” Eliza hastened to say. “He’s happiest in the garden. I’ll make sure he doesn’t disturb anyone.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” said the dowager, “but there is no garden. Wilkins will have to assign someone to walk him.”

  Eliza intended to walk him herself, but her mother-in-law’s expression kept her quiet. It was clear Lady Hastings did not like dogs. She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, dear.” The dowager turned and went back into the morning room. Eliza gripped a handful of fur at Willy’s neck to keep him from running after the woman.

  “Come,” urged Hugh, his hand at her back. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Eliza said nothing until they were alone in the master bedchamber. It was smaller than her room at home and she was surprised how dark it was. The furnishings were dark wood with blood-red upholstery, the carpets were an indeterminate shade of brown, and even the walls were covered in dreary papers. It was hideous.

  But Hugh was here, and when he closed the door and took her in his arms, the rest faded away. Eliza rested her cheek against his chest and felt at peace for the first time all day.

  “A bit much, is it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I fear your mother and sisters don’t like me.” It just slipped out before she could stop it.

  “What? No, they’re merely reserved,” he said. “Perhaps nervous, as well. It’s not every day a new lady of the house arrives. Be yourself, and my mother will come to love you.”

  “What about Edith and Henrietta?” she dared to ask.

  He huffed. “Edith has been upset with me for some time. She’ll get over her temper fit, and Henrietta always follows her. Besides, Edith is engaged herself. Now that the tedium of my wedding is over, she can embrace the thrill of her own, and that will raise both my sisters’ spirits.”

  “Tedium!”

  He laughed. “Wasn’t it? All that talking and nonsense, keeping me from this.” He cupped her face and kissed her. Willy whined, and Hugh raised his head. “Willy, basket,” he said in a tone of authority. To Eliza’s shock, her dog cocked his head, then trotted over to the familiar basket by the hearth and settled down. “Good dog,” Hugh told him before sweeping Eliza into his arms.

  He’d got her dress and petticoats off and had her twisting in his arms, wearing only her chemise as he kissed his way up and down her body, when a knock sounded at the door. Hugh growled, but when it came a second time he called out, “Yes?”

  Her hair over her face, her heart pounding and her skin tingling from his kisses, Eliza didn’t hear what the intruder said. But Hugh muttered a curse and rolled to his feet. He’d only lost his jacket and shoes, and when he opened the door he stood to block Eliza’s view—or rather, to block the visitor’s view of her. After a brief exchange, Hugh closed the door again, a letter in his hand. He broke the seal and read it, a scowl deepening on his face. When he finished reading he went to the window and stared out, tapping the letter against his thigh.

  Eliza slid from the bed. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  His curt tone stopped her cold. She bit her lip, and got her dressing gown, thoughtfully laid out by Mary. She wrapped it around herself and went to stand beside him. “Is it very bad news?”

  Hugh said nothing. His face was hard, and he looked to be deep in thought. Eliza simply waited. It must be something very shocking or alarming, but until she knew, it was best not to say anything.

  “I have to go out,” he said abruptly.

  Now? Her heart sank at the thought that they would not get to resume their very pleasant activities on the bed. “Is there anything I can do?” she ventured.

  He glanced at her, and she took a step backward at his expression. It was bitter, almost angry—but it changed as soon as his eyes met hers. A rueful smile touched his lips. “You can wait for me, just like this, Lady Hastings. The thought of it will bring me hurrying back as quickly as I can.”

  “Oh.” She smiled in relief. “If you wish . . .”

  “I do wish.” He pulled her to him and gave her one more searing kiss. “This is my wedding night, you know.”

  “It’s not night yet,” she said breathlessly.

  “And I regret losing even one hour of it to anyone else.” He retrieved his jacket from the floor, and put on his shoes. “You might take a nap while you can.”

  Eliza was blushing with happiness when he left. It was still daylight, so she rang for Mary to help her dress again. She might as well see her new home, and the obliging housekeeper gave her a tour from the cellars to the servants’ rooms under the eaves.

  Hugh didn’t come home, not when the dinner hour arrived and Mary told her the other ladies had ordered trays in their rooms. Eliza supposed they had planned to give the newlywed couple some time alone, so she also requested a dinner tray. She took Willy for a walk with a footman half attending, half directing her through the square nearby. Willy bitterly resented being kept on a lead, and Eliza was relieved to return home and send him to the kitchen for his dinner.

  But Hugh did not come back, even as the streetlamps were lit and she watched a dozen carriages come and go at houses nearby, marveling at how bright and busy London was compared to Greenwich.

  And he still hadn’t come back when she found herself yawning and dozing off in her chair. With a sigh, she called for Mary again and got ready for bed. Willy gave her a sad look, so she patted the mattress beside her. With a single leap he was on the bed, circling several times before curling into a furry lump beside her. Eliza stroked his head and smiled, but somewhat sadly. She had not expected to spend her wedding night with Willy.

  Hugh was ready to smash in Reginald Benwick’s handsome face.

  He had been on the verge of making love to his bride, savoring one of the most unexpectedly wonderful aspects of his situation, when the young man’s note arrived. Virtually steaming with outrage and arrogance, it demanded to know if it was true that Hugh meant to marry Edward Cross’s daughter. If so, Benwick wrote, it would severely damage his inclination to tie himself to Hugh’s family, and he demanded Hugh call on him at once to explain the matter.

  Edith had refused to speak to him for almost a week now. She had gone to the wedding only because their mother required it. Hugh knew that if he didn’t act immediately, her fury would be twice as terrible. He could live with that, but he could not ask Eliza to do the same. He’d seen the cold way Edith looked at his bride, and it pushed his patience to the end. Edith was being a child, but the best way to improve the situation was to mollify her and speed up the engagement to Benwick. Once Edith was a married lady herself, she would forget her sulks over Hugh’s marriage.

  So he left his wife, ravishingly mussed and mostly undressed, and went to Curzon Street. Benwick was waiting for him with his father, Viscount Livingston. And both of them erupted in fury when Hugh informed them that he had married Eliza Cross that morning.

  “Int
olerable,” raged the viscount, face purple. “I thought you had some discernment! What would your father say?”

  “I expect he would congratulate me,” said Hugh evenly.

  “Not for wedding the daughter of that scoundrel—no, not for all the money in the world.” Livingston was a tall fellow, with a paunchy belly and a mane of graying hair. His son stood behind his chair, his nose in the air, as if Hugh had also taken on the reek of whatever tainted Edward Cross. “That was it, wasn’t it?” pressed Livingston. “The money?”

  “That is none of your concern.” Hugh was keeping his temper, but only just. “I fail to see how it involves you.” He transferred his attention to Benwick. “Is this your doing?”

  “I never approved of your interest in that woman,” was his prissy reply.

  “How fortunate you want to marry my sister, then, and not me,” returned Hugh. “I daresay you and Edith shan’t have to see my wife more than once or twice a year.”

  Livingston snarled. “They’ll be relations! That—that gutter-born wench shall bear the Hastings heir, and how, sir, how shall my son avoid it then? He will be expected to recognize the brat!”

  Hugh came to his feet. “Livingston, watch yourself,” he said coldly. “Confine your remarks to the marriage settlements or we shall have to speak only through our attorneys.”

  “Bugger the settlements,” declared Livingston. “And the attorneys.”

  Hugh blinked. “What?” Just a few days ago he’d sent word to his solicitor to draw up a settlement, with ten thousand pounds to Edith. Cross had kept his word and the money was sitting in Hugh’s bank, ready to deliver to Benwick.

  Livingston’s eyes gleamed. “That man cheated me out of twenty thousand pounds. Cross is a viper—if you don’t know it yet, you will. Take this as a well-meant warning, Hastings. Find a way to annul the marriage. Send her back before it’s too late.”

  “Send her—” Hugh stared incredulously. “I married her. I cannot send her back.”

  Livingston waved one hand. “Find a way. I’d plead fraud if I were you. If you think Cross didn’t defraud you, that only means you haven’t realized how just yet. Repudiate her and send her back. I’ll not have my son and heir associated with that man in any way.”

  The viscount’s meaning began to sink in. Hugh turned to Benwick, looking for an ally this time. “Benwick, this is madness. You told me you love Edith. She loves you! Surely you aren’t going to be so fastidious as to spoil that.”

  Benwick didn’t look happy, but he nodded resolutely. “I cannot marry a woman with such connections.”

  Hugh was stunned. Shocked. Horrified. “You’re breaking the engagement,” he said in disbelief. “You’re jilting my sister.”

  Benwick flinched at the word, but his father nodded, his face fiery with spite. “He can’t jilt her. You never signed a settlement—wouldn’t even discuss one! There’s no engagement to break.”

  Still staring at Benwick, Hugh clenched his jaw. “You’re jilting my sister,” he repeated. “Over my marriage.”

  The young man hesitated. His father growled. Benwick swallowed and said firmly, “I must.”

  Hugh left. He walked in a daze, shaken to the core by the meeting. What was he to tell Edith? No—he couldn’t even think of it. Her heart would be broken. Her despair would be terrible. She would hate him forever.

  Surely Benwick would reconsider. Livingston would relent, once his temper cooled. Surely on the morrow they would remember the ten thousand pound dowry; the attorney had been quite clear about the terms of the settlement Hugh was offering. Surely . . .

  What if they didn’t?

  He should take Eliza into society at once, so everyone could see how unlike her father she was. Perhaps her friends would help her acquire a little confidence and polish, even throw a ball for her. Nothing improved a woman’s status like a glittering ball in the home of a sponsoring member of the haut ton. A ball given by the Duchess of Ware would surely lend Eliza some panache . . . But then Hugh remembered that the duchess had been a regular at the Vega Club until very recently. She was hardly part of the ton herself yet. And Lady Georgiana was an unmarried lady still, incapable of steering society’s opinion.

  He couldn’t bear to go home. At Piccadilly he turned east, and found himself walking up the steps of the Vega Club. It was as good a place as any to ponder his troubles. Hugh rarely drank, but tonight he found a seat in the back of the salon and ordered a bottle of wine. Tonight was a good night to get drunk.

  By the time he staggered home, the moon was high in the sky. Hugh groped in his pockets for his latchkey, but it wasn’t there; he had not planned to stay out late. He knocked at the door, and blessedly his mother had set a footman to wait for him as usual.

  “Shall I send for Mr. Bernard?” asked the servant as he bolted the door.

  Hugh waved one hand. “No.” There was no need to wake his valet. He trudged up the stairs, yanking at his neckcloth. Eliza must be sound asleep by now—not that he could tell her what had happened. He peeled off his clothes in the narrow dressing room and quietly let himself into the bedroom.

  The curtains were open, and the glow of the streetlamp outside fell across the bed. At his entrance, Willy raised his head from the bed—from Hugh’s pillow, actually. Hugh’s mouth twisted. “Willy, basket,” he ordered quietly. The dog regarded him for a moment, then stretched out to take up half the bed. The blankets rustled, and Eliza’s arm flopped across Willy’s neck. The dog heaved a sigh and thrashed his tail once, as if to say she has me—you’re not wanted.

  He gazed at his sleeping wife. She was an innocent party in all this—perhaps the only one. Her father might be a poisonous spider, corrupting all he caught in his web, but Eliza was not. Hugh couldn’t undo the marriage. In truth, he didn’t want to. Not only for the vast fortune she’d brought him, but because he was coming to care for her a great deal. She would be horrified and humiliated if she discovered that Edith’s engagement was in danger because of her. No one deserved that. He’d seen the overtures Eliza had made to his mother and sisters; she wanted them to like her. And he had promised her they would . . . in time.

  If Benwick followed through and jilted Edith, though, he thought it was possible they would despise Eliza. Hugh didn’t know how he would prevent any of it.

  But he was not getting pushed out of his own bed by a dog. “Basket,” he repeated, pointing. This time Willy slunk off the bed and went to his basket. Hugh eased between the covers, wondering how his attempts to save his family had all gone so horribly wrong.

  Chapter 17

  Eliza awoke to someone kissing her neck.

  Today, though, it was not Willy.

  “Good morning,” Hugh murmured, his hands skating up and down her arms. “I can tell you’re awake, Lady Hastings.”

  She tried to stifle her laugh. “How can you tell that?”

  “Because I’ve been making free of your body for some time now, learning every little thing that makes you twitch and sigh and moan.” His hand settled around her breast, his thumb stroking roughly over her nipple. “As your husband, I ought to know these things.”

  That explained why her heart was already racing and her skin felt hot. Eliza stretched and realized with a shock that her nightgown was up over her hips—and even more, that her husband was naked. No sooner did she move her legs than his slid between them, his own strong and hairy and so much bigger than hers. It was startling, and arousing, and so shocking, she said the first thing that came into her head. “Where’s Willy?”

  His chest shook with silent laughter. “He whined to go out some time ago. Bernard took him to the kitchen.”

  “Oh.” Eliza wished she weren’t such an idiot, to mention the dog when her husband was making love to her. “Thank you.”

  “I had to throw him off the bed last night.” His hand slid down her belly, right between her thighs. Her pulse went wild. He was making free with her body, and she was feverishly anxious for him to do it faster and hard
er. “I don’t want to begin our married life by making rules, but that is one: the dog sleeps in his bed, and I sleep in mine.” He nipped at the skin below her ear. “With my wife.”

  “If you insist . . .” His fingers probed boldly between her thighs and Eliza parted her legs in invitation.

  “I do.” He groaned, his mouth open against her neck, as he pushed one, then two fingers inside her. “My wife,” he repeated, with a strange emphasis. Eliza sensed something was off, but he spread her legs with both hands and tormented her until she couldn’t think, let alone speak.

  She was almost ready to explode, begging him in a voice she didn’t even recognize, when Hugh finally turned her over. His face dark, he moved above her and thrust home with such force her body spasmed and she gave a little cry of release. He curled one arm behind her head, his muscle as hard as iron, and began moving, driving hard and deep. Eliza thought she would faint—she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see anything but him, and he was riding her so furiously she had to curl her legs around his hips. He growled at that, kissing her until she saw stars, and finished with a shout, his head thrown back.

  “My wife,” he rasped. “Forever.”

  Eliza spread her hands on his bare chest, heaving and damp with sweat. Her heart was so full of love it ached. She pressed her lips to his skin. “And you’re mine, forever,” she whispered tenderly.

  They stayed like that for several minutes. Eliza marveled at the weight of him; this gorgeous man was her husband. Hers. He delighted in her body and found her appealing. She ran her hands down his muscled back, still in disbelief that she could touch him. He stirred enough to settle one hand around her breast, and she shivered at the intimacy of it. They were married. There might be a child—or four—to bind them together. It was everything she had ever wanted.

  “I love you,” she said softly.

  “Good,” he muttered. Eliza gave a gasp of embarrassed laughter, and Hugh went up on his elbows, a heavy-lidded, satisfied expression on his face. “What shall you do today?”