Earl of Weston_Wicked Regency Romance Page 5

  “Miss Longbottom, I fear your bird has provided more laughter and entertainment than this house has seen for years. Take a look at the head of the table.” He gestured towards the far end of the table, where her brother was almost in tears.

  “Indeed! It appears Lord Bentley is enjoying the entertainment.” Bergen grinned and nodded in the same direction. “How delightful. I think our friend Archie has turned our dull house party into an absolute riot!”

  Obviously enjoying the attention, Archie moved back to his perch, and then on to Bergen’s shoulder. The bird immediately nuzzled his head into Bergen’s neck and began giving what appeared to be affectionate pecks on his ear.

  “Very good. Good!” Archie cooed, bobbing his head gently against Bergen’s cheek.

  For a moment, Edward was slack-jawed, as a sudden irrational jealousy towards Bergen thrummed through his body. Realizing his mouth hung open, he closed it, and quickly contrived a look of amusement, wondering what had come over him.

  Miss Longbottom struggled to keep her bird on her shoulder when she rose and attempted to make her apologies for having to leave with a headache.

  “You…you! And that mangy, ill-conceived, ill-mannered bird!” Lady Bentley was suddenly in front of Miss Longbottom, gesticulating wildly.

  “Get out of my sight." the woman screeched. Her voice was more piercing than the parrot's. "You have ruined my party.”

  Hattie reached up, and holding Archie in place, turned to leave.

  “Ruined! Mangy! Jezebel!” By now extremely nervous—even to Edward's unknowledgeable eye—Archie flapped and shrieked as the room’s noise level increased further. The bird spit at Louisa, barely missing her.

  “Allow me. What kind of escort would I be if I permitted my dinner partner to leave by herself under these circumstances?” Edward offered his arm and together, they left the room.

  He was anxious to get to his own bedchamber, but wanted to visit the card room in search of Hampton. During the disturbance, the man had slipped from the dining room, in company with Lady Pennywaite.

  Archie surprised him by jumping to his shoulder and rubbing his head against Edward's face, calling him, “Whoremonger” in an affectionate fashion. Even Miss Longbottom had to laugh.

  Sally was already halfway downstairs to help Hattie. “Come, miss, let us get upstairs before the Mistress sees us.”

  Miss Longbottom lifted Archie from his shoulder and, as he stood watching, walked up two stairs before turning.

  “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”

  He inclined his head and watched her walk on, pursing his lips in disbelief at the uproar this woman and her bird had caused in one day.

  Crossing the hall, he slipped into the card room, where games of whist and piquet were beginning. The smell of spent tobacco hung in the air. Brass wall sconces lined the dark green and cream wallpapered walls, and iron and glass chandeliers hung over square rosewood card tables. The players relaxed in comfortable ram’s head side chairs, while several spectators stood watching over their shoulders.

  Three or four drinks later—he was not counting—he finally had a chance to gain Hampton’s attention.

  “Lord Hampton, a moment, please.”

  His brother’s friend faced him. “Yes, Weston. You wish to speak with me?”

  “I will not mince words. I want to hear from you what happened on the night my brother was killed. Please do not insult my intelligence by telling me he lost a duel. We both know that the shot went wide. He was killed by a bullet through his side.” The man began to fidget.

  “You must be mistaken, my lord. Your brother fell when the shots were fired.” He looked over his shoulder, and then, back. “What do you believe happened?”

  Edward could feel his anger and frustration brewing. He started to answer when the door opened and in walked Lord Bentley, with a guest he had not seen arrive.

  “Ladies, gentlemen...may I introduce my wife’s brother, Mr. Philip Martin?”

  A corpulent, balding man stood at Lord Bentley’s side. His clothing looked shabby, and his neck cloth hung in disarray. Martin had a strange tightness about his mouth.

  The room went silent. Edward noticed Hampton leave hurriedly, wearing a look of alarm. He was not sure what to make of it. He also noticed that Lord Bentley quickly made an introduction, to the couple closest to his brother-by-marriage, engaging them in conversation, and then moved slowly towards the group playing whist in the far corner of the room. Interesting. Bentley doesn’t favor his brother-in-law.

  “Bergen," Edward said, strolling over to greet him. "There you are my friend. How is it that your game has already ended? I am afraid I have failed on all fronts with Hampton. What do you say we join a game and try our luck?”

  “Happy to, Weston. I was just watching the table in the back there.” He pointed to the table that was having a loud discussion. “I predict that game will end quickly, just as mine did.”

  “Heavens! What did you do to have the whole table abandon you?” Edward snickered, and then lightly slapped his friend’s back in a sign of familiarity.

  “I am not sure, exactly. I thought perhaps it was to start with games for larger groups.”

  Four games later, Edward was ready to call it a night. The brandy had been excellent, but he had not only lost count of his money, he had also not tallied the drink he had consumed. The dull ache of his head urged him to go to bed. Bergen was still enjoying himself, obviously winning his hands.

  Edward was tired. It had been a full day. He pushed back from the table and found his thoughts going back to the curious Miss Longbottom and her parrot. He had to admit, she was not as bad as he had first considered. He glanced around the room, wondering if any of the earls present might consider her for a match—certainly not the type for himself, but someone else might find her so.

  Slowly, he made his way upstairs. In a fleeting thought, he wondered what room had been assigned to Miss Longbottom. Opening his dark room, he noticed the fire had burned down. The room had just the right amount of coolness to it, so he decided to forgo building up the fire. He just wanted sleep. Sitting on the nearest chair, he pulled off his boots and then the rest of his clothes. They lay scattered on the floor where they landed. Without bothering to search his baggage for a night-shift, he pulled back the covers and slipped between the noticeably warm sheets. The smell of rose and a comfortable bed took his thoughts back to a ride with a firm young woman pushed up against him on his mount. Warm sheets are divine, he thought, turning towards the warmer side of the bed. It was his last thought before he dropped off to sleep.

  Hattie fell into bed feeling humiliated and exhausted. Sally had lent her a flannel night-dress and a lovely pair of wool socks she had knitted herself. Hattie was certain she would never have been able to sleep in just her shift.

  Hopefully, when she woke, she would be back in her warm bed in Little Whitley and dreaming of her day’s activities as one of the Lord’s helpers in the parish. Never before today could she have imagined how out of place she would feel in her brother’s household.

  Every young girl dreams of what it must be like to sit at a table with London's elite, but it had been nothing like her imaginings. It was certainly unlike any of the social gatherings at home. For one, the gowns the ladies wore left nothing to the imagination and those same gentlewomen flirted and fawned shamelessly over the gentlemen. Their behavior was much as her mother had once described the flagrancy of ladies of the night! If that were not enough to offend every sensibility, there was far too much imbibing of liquor taking place.

  Hattie had walked into a den of Hades. It was all due to Jezebel, she had no doubt. Richard was a very fine man. Even if she had not been raised with him, he had always been very good and kind to her. It was enough to put her off for her food. She yawned as sleepiness overcame her, her last thought a resolution to speak to Richard about it first thing in the morning.

  Hattie could scarcely ever recall a dream after she awoke. Occasi
onally she could remember one from her youth, when she had hopes of a handsome squire galloping down the drive to carry her away to his country estate. Naturally, a brood of children followed and they lived happily ever after. Perhaps, on occasion, there had been a chaste kiss on the lips…

  Tonight, however, she was having a dream unlike any other she had experienced before. She was in the marriage bed—and it involved sensations no decent woman had any right to feel!

  Her tall, and very muscular, husband was kissing her neck and tracing his tongue slowly around her ear. She could not see his face, but he smelled of cloves, smoke, and spirits. She had smelled that scent somewhere before. It was oddly disorientating yet also comforting. Strange, warm sensations were shooting through her body, settling deep within; a burning, tingling feeling... there. Then, through the flannel of her night-dress, his hands were caressing her everywhere. Part of her knew she should be shocked, yet somehow she could not find the strength, even when she felt an exquisite pain in her chest. She writhed away from him in an attempt to make the feeling go away, but he drew her back. One of his hands slid down her body and slowly, sensuously, lifted her gown to her neck. Moist kisses replaced the rub of his hand and she shuddered, barely noticing as his fingers travelled over her skin. Teasing caresses stroked her... and a moan escaped her lips. She twisted against the knowing, wicked touch. Why could she not wake up from this dream? Suddenly, her husband's warm, heavy body covered hers, and then, through her subconscious, she realized that this was not a dream. I have no husband! her mind cried out.

  She attempted to sit up and panicked as she found her night-rail was around her neck, entangling her. Desperately, she struggled to be free.

  Wide-eyed with horror, she felt something warm and firm slide against her thigh.

  “Snake!” she cried. “Help!” Jumping out of the bed, she grabbed her pillow and began beating the mattress as her night-rail found its way back downward.

  Archie let out a loud, shrill, sound of distress. “Help! Help!”

  “Hell and damnation!” The man bellowed the words as he jumped away from her and began to fumble in the dark.

  “Whoremonger!” Archie greeted the familiar intruder from under his blanketed cage.

  The door to her room burst open and there stood Richard, holding a taper and looking furious. Before long, most of the house appeared to be standing outside her door.

  Hattie quickly checked her night-dress was fully down, leaped back into the bed and pulled the covers over her head. She had never been more ashamed or mortified. How could her life have plummeted into the depths of complete depravity in the course of four-and-twenty hours?

  She heard Louisa exclaim, in a dramatic fashion, “To think we allowed the harlot under our roof!”

  Hattie seethed with anger.

  “Louisa, hush. Weston?” Her brother spoke with eerie calm.

  “I beg your pardon, Bentley. There has been a dreadful mistake. I will, however, be leaving for London at first light.”

  “See that you do.”

  Hattie tried to peek at the scene she could envision only too well. She could see very little more than her brother’s back as he commanded everyone back to bed, and Jezebel’s beady eyes glaring at her.

  The door closed with a resounding snap and Hattie suddenly wished everyone would come back. She could not face this man, knowing what they had done.

  “Well, madam, can you not look at your future groom?”

  She shook her head underneath the covers.

  She heard him curse under his breath before sitting on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight and she had difficulty in maintaining her position. She sucked in her breath. Did he intend…?

  “Miss Longbottom. Oh, the devil! What is your name?” he muttered.

  “H-Ha—Hattie,” she squeaked.

  “Hattie. Please allow me to speak to your face.”

  She was completely unprepared for such a situation and how to handle it. Her education as a young lady had been sorely lacking in this particular area. However, she had been brought up to look people in the eye when they spoke to her. She slowly lowered the blanket from her face but held it tightly under her chin. Her cap was askew and she could see strands of hair hanging in wild disarray. What a sight she must be!

  “Yes, my lord?” she asked testily. This mess was all his doing, the blackguard.

  “Edward. My name is Edward,” he said softly. “May I humbly beg your pardon? I know it is too little too late, but I drank too much and entered your room by mistake.”

  She could feel her mouth hanging open. How could he sit on her bed unclothed and expect a tête-à-tête?

  “I will obtain a special license and we may be married in three days’ time.”

  “I do not want to marry you,” she growled.

  “Be that as it may, there are few options. Would you prefer living with Jezebel? I assure you, madam, that I would not cast you away as a maid.”

  “No, I am aware of that, sir,” she acknowledged quietly. “You have shown me generosity. It is only—I do not wish to live a fashionable life. We do not suit in that regard.”

  “We suit in another,” he rasped. He was much too close for her comfort. She could clearly see how handsome he was, and it was hard not to stare at his muscular chest and arms, and the expanse of hair down to his… Hattie's cheeks flushed with remembrance of the feel of that coarse hair chafing her own bare flesh.

  “You will have three days to accustom yourself to the idea of being my countess. If you find you cannot countenance me, you may live alone in the country—once you have conceived—and tolerate me from time to time. I give you fair warning, I will be a part of my children's lives. I assure you, I will not be an unreasonable husband. His gaze was unnerving as he watched her, presumably to make sure she understood.

  He then rose and gathered his clothing before leaving for his own room, leaving her to squint after his well-proportioned form.

  Chapter 5

  Edward had planned to leave at first light. It was actually half past seven when he and Bergen departed. A brief meeting with Bentley on his plans had turned into half an hour, with Edward discussing his plans for settlements. Bentley was more than pleased. Edward had lain awake in his own bed the night before, cogitating about his situation and waiting for sleep to overtake him. He wanted to behave in an honorable manner, and the more he thought about marriage to Hattie Longbottom, the more resigned he became.

  He considered it would take the better half of the day to reach London. He had several stops to make, including speaking with his mother. He was dreading that. On the one hand, his having to be married should please her, but he knew his mother. She was a parvenu and not only would she find fault with his intended, but she would harp on about how Hattie's breeding not being good enough for the Weston line. It was her way of controlling her children and inserting herself into their lives—blasting them with her requirements until they acquiesced. Robert had deplored her interference and continually lamented their parent’s review of the women he had spent time with, to the point where he had avoided family parties whenever he had been able.

  To his surprise, Bergen volunteered to accompany him to London, and he was glad to have his company. One day he would tell Bergen how much his friendship meant to him, but that would wait until after he had begged a favor. Edward glanced over at Bergen and smiled. Yes, he needed to get that out of the way, first.

  “Tell me, Weston. You are off to the archbishop to obtain a special license, you have to face your mother, and you are having to see your solicitor—not to mention you are being leg-shackled in three days.” Bergen shook his head. “Please...do tell me again about the snake? The announcement of its arrival roused half the wing.” He laughed so loudly, his horse tossed his head and snorted in irritation.

  They were several hours into their trip. The road was dusty, and cut through farmland, so they didn’t have the cover of trees at this juncture. He sensed that Bergen was
holding back, but he refused to bring up the subject of Miss Longbottom. They had spoken about every topic except her—or his situation. He was confident that Bergen would not remain silent too much longer. Edward glanced over and caught the smirk on Bergen’s face, and knew this trip was going to get the better of him. He tried to shake off his irritation, but could not. “You need me to say it again? Very well, I will. I over-imbibed. I put myself in bed, as I always do. Damn it! If you are going to harass me…” He stopped. He did not want to alienate his friend. After all, he had only himself to blame. On top of that, if it had happened to Bergen, he would also be relentless in jocular harassment. “Perhaps I should have abstained from the last glass of brandy. It was just too good to waste; and yes, it will be difficult dealing with my mother. On top of all that...”

  Bergen cut him off. “Weston, it is none of my business. I must, however, say this. You have a problem. In a world of dipping too deep, you drink to excess. You are my best friend and are like a brother to me, which is why I must put you straight, no matter the cost. Do not glare at me. Someone has to say it. I also enjoy a good drink and a night on the spree, but you do not seem to know when to stop. It has thrust you into more than one scrape—and now this... Honestly, you are getting leg-shackled and it is because you were foxed.” He paused for breath. “In this case, even though it looks disastrous, Miss Longbottom could be the very thing for you. I think there is a lot more to her than meets the eye.”

  At last allowed to speak, Edward responded with considerable testiness.

  “You insult me, Bergen. I will, however, concede you make a valid point. I do think Hattie could be good for me. She will provide me with a much-needed heir, which will fulfill my mother’s need and make her cease her constant haranguing.”

  Bergen shook his head.

  “I have a favor to ask.” Edward felt annoyed. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he had swigged far too much. He had been as drunk as a wheelbarrow and made a quick, mental note not to do so again. Meanwhile, he still needed to make his request. “We should be in London by supper-time if we do not stop longer than it takes to rest the horses. An hour, maybe two.”