Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (12 page)

I
t might be her wedding day, but Esme was ready for it to be over.

She’d been on her feet for hours and hours—first at the ceremony and then at the reception. Her only real respite had been during the reception nuncheon, where the bridal party and all of the guests had gathered to partake of the sumptuous meal prepared by Cook and the kitchen staff.

Cook had even found the time to create a lavish four-tiered wedding cake with a traditional fruitcake topper that would be saved for her and her new spouse to share in celebration of their first wedding anniversary.

At the moment, Esme couldn’t even imagine such a possibility; she could barely believe she was married at all. And yet she had the grand diamond ring on her left hand to prove it and Lord Northcote at her side—large and real and undeniably male.

He hadn’t kissed her again as he had outside the chapel right after the ceremony. But brief as their embrace had been, she could still remember the sensation of his lips pressed to hers along with the dizzying pleasure of his touch. Or maybe that had just been the whiskey making itself known, her head hazy from alcohol and nerves rather than from the man who was now her husband.

She shot Northcote a sideways glance where he stood talking with her cousin India and India’s husband, Quentin, Duke of Weybridge. Quentin, whom Esme counted as one of her favorite relations, had once boasted a reputation as bad as—possibly even worse than—that of Northcote himself, although she wasn’t supposed to know anything about such matters, of
course. Given his history, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to discover that Quentin and Northcote were old acquaintances. Apparently, they had even “cut a swath” through London together in years past when Northcote had still been what Quentin good-naturedly called a “young puppy.”

But despite the fact that Quentin was now a loyal, loving husband and father of three who had long since given up his profligate ways, Esme held out little hope that Northcote would do the same, regardless of his promise to remain faithful to her. For unlike India and Cousin Quentin, she and Northcote had not married for love.

Swallowing a tired sigh, she shuffled her slippered feet beneath her long skirts and gazed longingly toward the doorway, wishing she could slip off to her room.

At least there’d been no mention of her leaving Braebourne tonight with her new husband. What with all the hurry for them to wed, plans for a honeymoon had been overlooked. Given the circumstances of her marriage, though, going off on a honeymoon seemed rather ridiculous. After all, honeymoons were for couples in love like Leo and Thalia, whom she’d caught more than once gazing at each in the most heatedly intimate way when they didn’t think they were being observed.

What must it be like to be loved, to be wanted, with that kind of intensity?

Suddenly, she looked up and got a jolt like she’d been poked with a hot brand when she saw Northcote staring at her.

She spun around and forced herself to listen more attentively to one of her neighbors, who was discussing the latest fashion plates she’d viewed in
La Belle Assemblée
.

Without warning, a powerful masculine arm, one that could only belong to Northcote, snaked around her waist and pulled her near. “Every pardon, my dear. I fear I have been neglecting you. I hope you will forgive me.”

Leaning down, he brushed a kiss against her cheek; it burned like fire.

Her neighbor fell silent and stared with a kind of intrigued awe at Northcote. It was as if she’d never quite seen his like before, despite her acquaintance with the Byron men, who all had reputations of their own.

Esme felt rather tongue-tied herself, though not for anywhere near the same reason. “Of course,” she managed.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said to the other woman, “but I’m afraid I’m going to steal my bride. You don’t mind, do you?”

From the corner of her eye, Esme saw him flash the woman a smile.

Her neighbor, the local squire’s wife, who was at least fifteen years his senior and likely outweighed him by a stone, let out the most unlikely giggle and shook her head. “No, my lord. You are the groom, after all. Pray steal away.”

“How forbearing. Your graciousness is noted and appreciated.”

The woman giggled again like some schoolgirl, watching dazedly as Northcote led Esme away.

“You’re completely shameless—do you know that?” Esme said once they were out of her neighbor’s hearing.

He stopped and turned to face her. “Frequently, but how so on this occasion? Or are you referring to my tearing you away from your companion? You looked glassy-eyed with boredom. I presumed I was doing you a favor.”

She tipped her head back to look at him and realized he really didn’t know what she was talking about, though surely he must be aware of the almost hypnotic effect he had on women. Then again, perhaps he was so used to getting his way with members of the fairer sex, he no longer noted their dramatic reactions but instead took them for granted.

For a moment, she considered explaining, then
decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “Never mind. What is it you want?”

He arched a dark brow. “The company of my bride, of course. I thought we might share a dance.”

“Thank you, but I would rather not. I am tired.”

He studied her. “Hmm, it has been rather a long day, even for a girl of your obvious youth and energy.”

“My
youth
,” she repeated with a mocking edge, “has naught to do with it. I did not sleep well last night.”

“Did you not?” Reaching out, he skimmed a finger along her cheek, leaving another trail of fire in its wake. “Mayhap you should have drunk that whiskey last night rather than today before the ceremony. No doubt it’s left you sleepy. Ah well, you can lie abed late tomorrow.”

She fought the blush that rose to her cheeks, color that seemed to delight him as a slow smile spread over his mouth.

“Maybe I shall. If you will forgive me, Lord Northcote, I wish to withdraw for the evening.”

“Yes, go change your attire. I shall await you down here; then we’ll be off.”

“Off where?”

“Why, to Cray House, of course. Did no one tell you we are to spend the night there?”

“No, they did not,” she said, alarm making her voice go higher.

“Well, we are. The arrangements have all been made. Cray and his cronies have very kindly agreed to take lodgings elsewhere for the night. His wedding gift to us.”

Suddenly she didn’t like Mr. Cray nearly as much as she had always done. She’d never realized what a high-handed busybody he could be.

“That is most considerate of Mr. Cray.” She worked to modulate her tone. “However, he and his friends need not discompose themselves. I am far too tired to relocate tonight and have no wish to do so. I am going
to my room and shall see you in the morning. Good night.”

Northcote scowled, all hint of a smile vanishing from his face. “You will see me this evening as well. In case it slipped your mind, this happens to be our wedding night.”

She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I know very well what night this is. I also know that we are scarcely acquainted with one another and that this marriage is one of necessity rather than personal inclination on both of our parts. Sleep well, Lord Northcote. We shall continue furthering our acquaintance over breakfast.”

His eyes took on a look of amused forbearance. “Trying to put me off, are you? I think not. We shall continue furthering our acquaintance tonight in bed,
Lady
Northcote
. I can think of no faster or better way for us to get to know each other than lying naked together between a set of sheets.”

She gasped, her pulse beating erratically at the images he’d just put in her mind.

He gave her an implacable look. “Now, go change out of that dress and have your overnight things brought downstairs so we can leave within the hour.”

She gulped but held her ground, suddenly trembling at her own daring. “No. I am not going to Cray House with you.”

A brief silence descended.

“Very well,” he said, his voice reasonable.

Too reasonable.

“Truthfully, it makes no matter to me where we consummate this union, so long as we consummate it,” he said. “I’ll come up with you now, then, and help you out of the gown myself.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist.

She shrugged out of his hold. “You will not!”

Several people looked around at her outburst, a
couple of them her brothers, who scowled in their direction.

“Don’t make a scene, darling,” Northcote murmured for her ears alone. “Not at your own wedding.”

“I am not your darling.”

“No, you are my wife. Or have you forgotten the vows you took today? Among them was your promise to obey me.”

“No, it wasn’t. I crossed my fingers during that part, so it didn’t count.”

His lips twitched as if he was suddenly of a mind to laugh.

“Come along, Esme.” He took hold of her elbow and steered her toward the door.

“Gabriel, no.” She trotted along at his side.

“Ah, so you’ve remembered my given name, have you?”

They moved out into the hallway, his long strides eating up the distance as he propelled her along the elegant Aubusson hall runner, past niches containing priceless vases full of fresh flowers and magnificent sculptures and paintings done by masters—old and new.

“Please, Gabriel. Not tonight.”

He stopped, turning toward her without releasing his hold. “And why not, my dear? Surely I am not so terrible as all that?”

“No, you . . . are not terrible. But still you are a stranger, or very nearly one. I would just like to know you better before we . . . before we are intimate in the way of a husband and wife.”

He studied her, a measure of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I confess I forget sometimes just how little you know of such matters. I am not used to dealing with innocents. Rather the opposite, in point of fact.”

“Then can we not postpone tonight for a little while?” she said, clutching at the straws he’d just offered her. “Surely I am not the only one of us who is tired. You and my brothers were on the road to London and back with hardly any chance of respite in between.
What is one more night when we have an entire lifetime ahead of us?”

“When you put it that way, I suppose it would be churlish of me to insist on exercising my husbandly rights this evening.”

She let out a sigh of relief, which drew a look of ironic amusement from him.

“You needn’t look so happy about it, you know,” he said.

She wiped the smile off her face. “Of course not, and you are most forbearing to agree. Thank you, Lord Northcote. I mean, Gabriel.”

“Hmmph. I fear I have just been insulted.” Without warning, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and bent closer. “I could take it back, you know. I feel quite confident I could have you stripped bare and moaning with pleasure in a matter of minutes, probably even less.”

She quivered at his words, afraid he might be right.

“But never let it be said that Gabriel Landsdowne forced himself on a woman, especially one who is his new bride.” He skimmed his thumb over her lips, his skin surprisingly rough for a gentleman who supposedly did no manual labor. “You may have your reprieve tonight. But just for tonight. My patience only goes so deep.”

“Yes, Gabriel.” She smiled, her heart thumping in her breast.

“Be careful, little girl,” he warned. “Or else the big, bad wolf might just change his mind and decide to eat you, after all.”

Her eyes got wide and he laughed, then held out his arm. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

She nodded and laid her hand on his sleeve.

Before they had so much as turned in that direction, a set of forceful footsteps sounded behind them.

“Esme. Northcote.” It was Edward, wearing his most forbidding ducal expression. “Is everything all right? It looked like the two of you were having a
disagreement back in the ballroom, then left rather abruptly. I came to make sure all is well.”

“Yes, everything is fine between me and my
wife
.” Northcote’s amused expression vanished as he and Edward exchanged glares.

“What Gabriel means,” Esme said, jumping in before things could escalate further between the two men, “is that he and I had a minor misunderstanding about our accommodations for the night, but we’ve talked and everything is settled now.”

Edward crossed his arms. “Settled how?”

“Cray offered us the use of his house tonight,” Northcote said, “but Esme is too tired to make the trip, so we’re remaining here at Braebourne.”

Edward looked between them. “Exactly as you ought.” He turned toward Esme and directed his next words specifically to her. “And that is all? No other
misunderstandings
you wish to share? You may be married to him now, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still my sister. You can tell me anything, Esme, anything at all. That is something that will never change.”

Gabriel’s arm flexed beneath her hand, his shoulders tightening with obvious umbrage.

Her brother’s concern touched her, but once again, she found herself leaping to Gabriel’s defense for reasons even she didn’t really understand.

“There is nothing further to tell,” she said in a cheerful tone. “Everything is exactly as it ought to be between Gabriel and myself. Truly. You have no reason to be concerned, Ned. After all, he is my husband now.”

Edward studied her for another few seconds. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?” His eyes shifted back to Northcote. “You may be my brother-in-law, but that doesn’t mean I will cease either my care of, or concern for, Lady Esme. Not ever. She is precious to me and to all of her family. Pray remember that.”

Northcote smiled wryly. “Oh, don’t worry. I shall. How can I not with nearly the entirety of your family taking every opportunity to remind me of that fact? I
believe the only Byron who hasn’t made some remark to that effect is one of your cousins, although perhaps he was a footman and I am simply in error as to his identity.”