Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (14 page)

But rather than draw out a bleeding stump, Esme ever so carefully lifted the bird from the cage, the hawk balanced now on her arm.

She crooned to him again, murmuring encouragements that he almost seemed to understand. The hawk tipped his head, listening to her as he slowly blinked his eyes.

“I shall miss you, Aeolus,” she said. “You have been such a good, brave bird. But you are a wild creature and need to be free. I have done all I can to heal you; now you must do the rest. You must fly and make your home in the trees again. You must seek a mate, wherever she may be, and raise a brood of fine little eyases.”

She blinked, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Go on, now. You’re ready. Take flight and have a long, happy life.”

She extended her arm fully and gave it an encouraging upward bounce. But Aeolus hung on, turning his head again to look her once more in the eyes.

Then, as if he too had said his good-byes, he spread his magnificent wings and lifted upward. Briefly, he fell back toward the earth, as though still uncertain if he had enough strength in his newly healed wing to make the flight. But then his feathers caught hold of the breeze and he flapped harder. Once, twice, three times, and he soared into the sky. With a profound grace, he flew farther and farther away until gradually he disappeared from sight altogether.

Pete grinned widely, satisfied at the exhibition they had all just witnessed. “Exactly as I told ye, your lordship. Nothing short of amazing. ’Tis a gift Lady Esme has. She understands creatures like none I’ve e’er seen.”

“Yes, so it would appear.” Gabriel walked slowly forward, considering his bride from an entirely new point of view.

Briefly she met his eyes before looking away to busy herself removing the leather and cotton sleeve.

The stable hand cleared his throat. “I’ll just take this
back to the stables, then, shall I?” He gestured toward the cart with the wooden cage fastened on top.

“Yes, thank you for your help.” Esme handed the sleeve to the servant.

“Anytime, Lady Esme.”

“Lady
Northcote
,” Gabriel corrected quietly as he drew to a halt at her side.

“Right ye are, my lord. So used to thinkin’ of her the other way, it’ll take a mite to get the new one lodged in me noggin. Day to ye, my lord. Lady Esme.”

With a tip of his hat, Pete took hold of the cart handles and wheeled everything away.

“Rather impertinent fellow. Does Clybourne not mind?”

“Mind Pete? Not at all. Why, he’s one of our best grooms and has an excellent way with the horses, and with the barn cats too. Everyone likes Pete.”

“He certainly reveres you. That was a terrible risk you took with that hawk, you know,” Gabriel said.

Esme started toward the house. He fell into step beside her.

“Not at all,” she said. “Aeolus is far from the first wild animal I have nursed back to health. Over the weeks since I pulled an arrow out of his wing, he’s learned to trust me. I find animals are amazingly understanding after you save their lives.”

“Not always. Some of them have been known to bite the hand that helps them. So, do I take it you make a habit of rescuing wounded creatures?”

“I do. And lost, abandoned ones as well.” She came to an abrupt halt, then turned and looked up into his eyes. Her own gleamed an intense blue. “Gracious, but I never thought to ask. You do like animals, don’t you?”

He arched a brow. “What if I told you I do not?”

Her delicate little forehead scrunched tight. “That would present a formidable problem, one that might compel me to ask you for an annulment.”

Reaching out, he drew her to him. “Then it is a good
thing that I
do
like animals—and not just to eat or wear.”

Her frown grew thunderous. “That isn’t funny.”

He chuckled, then forced himself to be serious again. “No, you’re right. It is not. Truly, I was just teasing. All your furry little charges are completely safe with me.”

She studied him for a moment, then relaxed, apparently satisfied with whatever it was she had seen on his face. “Do you have any pets, Lord Northcote?”

“Gabriel,” he reminded her. “No, I do not.”

“Oh, I cannot imagine not having pets. They bring so much joy and comfort. Have you never had any animals, not even as a child?”

His scowl grew more pronounced. “I had a dog once, when I was a boy.”

He didn’t like to think about Scrapper, a small misbegotten-looking brown terrier, who’d once followed him everywhere and had slept each night at the foot of his bed. Then his parents died and they’d both been left to his uncle’s less than tender care.

Scrapper had tried to defend him once during one of his uncle’s more vicious whippings. For his loyalty, the little dog had paid the ultimate price. Even after all these years, he could still hear his uncle’s enraged voice.

Bite me, will you, you miserable cur? I’ll teach you how to show proper respect.

Amid Gabriel’s own pleading shouts to stop and Scrapper’s furious barks of pain and terror, his uncle had repeatedly brought the cane he’d been using on Gabriel down on the small animal. Gabriel had reached for his uncle’s arm and been hurled brutally aside. Scrapper had seemed to go crazy then, growling and snapping wildly despite his injuries, trying still to protect his master. Before Gabriel’s horrified eyes, his uncle had grabbed the little dog around the neck and flung him hard across the room. He’d hit the wall with a sickening thud, where he’d lain still, everything unnaturally silent.

Scrapper had never moved again.

Gabriel had been confined to his room for a week for his disobedience; he hadn’t even been allowed to bury his dead pet. He’d learned later that Scrapper’s body had been tossed into the rubbish pit and burned along with the kitchen waste.

He’d never spoken of him again.

“You only had the one dog, then? You’ve had no pets since?” Esme asked softly.

He looked down, startled to realize that he’d temporarily forgotten her. “No. Never.”

For cruel though it might seem, his uncle had taught him a valuable lesson that day—that life was easier when you didn’t let yourself love anything too deeply; that way it didn’t hurt so much when it went away.

“Well, we shall have to remedy that,” Esme said. “I have four dogs, so you can make up for your lack of pets by enjoying mine.”

She eased out of his hold and started toward the house again.

“Four?” He caught up to her quickly, her shorter strides no match for his own.

“Yes, and six cats. I had a hedgehog at one time but the cats kept trying to get at her despite her protective quills. Poor dear, much as I did my best to protect her, she was constantly terrified. In the end, I gave her to a friend, who simply adores her. She’s happy and healthy and has an excellent garden plot where she likes to dig for grubs—the hedgehog, not my friend, of course,” Esme added with a grin.

Somewhat bemused, he smiled back.

Ten pet animals?
To say nothing of any other creatures she might have secreted away in the stables and on the Braebourne grounds.

Good Christ
, maybe he was the one who ought to be asking for the annulment.

“Have you had breakfast yet, Lord Northcote?”

“No, not yet, Lady Northcote.” Catching hold of her wrist, he drew her gently to a halt. “And once again, it
is Gabriel. You are to use my given name from now on; is that understood?”

She met his gaze. “If you insist.”

“I do, Esme.”

Taking hold of her other wrist, he pulled her arms behind her back and stepped near, angling his body so that she was pressed to him. He looked down, enjoying the way her small round breasts thrust against the fabric of her faded gray dress and the hint of sweet, supple flesh concealed within. He realized now why she was wearing such a worn-out, ugly old frock—she did it so she could tend to her rescued creatures without sullying her prettier gowns.

It reminded him of the first time they’d met. How he’d thought she was a servant and how he’d planned to talk his way underneath her skirts at his earliest opportunity.

Curious to realize that she was his wife now, and curiouser still that he, one of England’s most infamous rakehells, hadn’t yet managed to get under those skirts, not even after taking vows.

That was a lapse he needed to remedy soon. Very soon.

Bending his head, he took her mouth. He smiled inwardly when she gave a tiny gasp that was half surprise, half pleasure. Her fingers curled into small fists as her body instinctively arched closer to his.

“Open up,” he murmured, nipping and teasing her mouth with the promise of further delights. His patience was rewarded moments later as she obediently parted her lips and invited him inside.

Without loosening his hold on her wrists, he indulged in a lazy, languid exploration, pressing unhurried kisses against her lips before indulging in far deeper play with his teeth and tongue that showed her all the intimate things he really wanted to do.

She shivered and shyly kissed him back, following his lead. Spreading his thighs, he drew her more fully into the lee of his body, his touch growing more intense,
even though he knew he dared go only so far, given their present location this close to the house.

Forcing himself to maintain control, he savored all her responses, her breathy sighs and unpracticed kisses, which only made him want to teach her more.

Toying and teasing, he used his tongue with a skill designed to tempt and enthrall. He smiled again as she trembled and kissed him harder. And for an instant, he let himself go, savoring the honey-sweet taste of her mouth and the heady fragrance of her skin, which set his blood afire.

He broke off abruptly and buried his lips against her neck, kissing her there as he released her wrists so he could wrap her in his arms. “We should go up to the house.”

“Oh yes . . . I suppose so.”

He kissed her mouth again, then moved to the other side of her throat to scatter kisses along her nape.

She quivered, eyes closed, a dreamy look on her face.

He caught her earlobe between his teeth, then gave it a little suckle. She jumped slightly, clearly startled.

With a chuckle, he resumed his ministrations to the tender skin of her throat. “Perhaps we should skip breakfast and go to your bedchamber instead.”

He slid his hand up the length of her spine, then down again, deliberately slow.

Her eyes popped open. “My bedchamber?”

“Hmm-hmm.”

“But it’s morning.”

“So it is—the best time of day for coupling. I prefer to see my lover rather than groping in the dark. No candles required.”

He snuck a look up from under his lashes and chuckled again at her wide-eyed expression.

“We can’t,” she whispered.

He pressed an openmouthed kiss to the base of her throat, just above her collarbone, gratified when he felt her answering response. “I assure you, my dear, we
most certainly can. Let us away.” Straightening, he met her gaze.

“But my maid will be waiting for me,” she said.

“Then we’ll send her about her business.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know Mrs. Grumblethorpe. She won’t approve.”

“I hardly need the permission of your maid. Since we happen to be married, Mrs. Grumblethorpe can jolly well bugger off.”

“Gabriel!”

“Come now,” he scoffed. “You must have heard far worse language than that from your horde of brothers over the years.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I’m not supposed to know what any of it means.”

He arched an eyebrow, suddenly curious. “
Do
you know what ‘bugger off’ means?”

“Of course. It means to shoo away insects. Something particularly nasty, like bedbugs or wasps, I presume.”

A laugh burst from his chest, deep and unfettered, with an honest amusement he rarely experienced.

“What is so funny?”

“Nothing, my dear,” he lied, as he worked to rein in his good humor. “Nothing at all.” Catching hold of her hand, he turned her toward the house. “Come, let us go.”

“All right, but not to . . .
you know
. Everyone must be awake by now and at breakfast. They will wonder what has become of us if we do not put in an appearance.”

“I rather imagine they’ll know precisely what we’re up to if we do not put in an appearance. We are
newlyweds, after all, even if we haven’t actually consummated anything yet.”

“Oh,” she groaned, cheeks growing pink, “that only makes it worse.”

“How have you managed to face them these past two weeks considering the reason we were forced to marry? You did do a naked drawing of me, remember? Most of them likely think I’ve been tumbling you for weeks now.”

Her chin came up. “They do not! And that sketch is hardly the same thing as fornicating while my entire family has breakfast just down the hall. That sketch is art.”

“Art, is it? Some might say it was an act of lascivious interest on the part of an overly indulged young woman with too much personal freedom.”

She shook off his hold. “Too much—are you implying that I am spoiled?”

“No more than most dukes’ sisters, I daresay. And at least you aren’t cruel and conniving like so many of the
Ton
girls I’ve met. You’ve just been given your way in far too many respects and need a firmer hand to rein you in.”

Her eyes flashed with blue fire. “Rein me in? I am not a horse, Lord Northcote.”

“No, you most definitely are not.” He raked his gaze over her body. “I have no interest in fucking a horse. Just my wife, who, so far, does nothing but refuse me.”

Her cheeks burst with hot color; clearly she knew the meaning of that particular bad word.

He realized instantly that he ought to apologize; he hadn’t meant to say anything quite so crude or insensitive. But he’d be damned if he was going to say he was sorry to some nineteen-year-old slip of a girl, even if she did happen to be his new bride.

Her hands opened and closed at her sides, and he wondered for a moment if she was thinking about slapping him—assuming she could reach that high.

Instead she backed away. “I should have listened to
my instincts and refused to marry you, regardless of the cost to my reputation. How dare you speak to me like that?” She blinked, her eyes growing moist.