Hardly a Husband

  "Yes. I had hoped that you might be willing to do a favor for an old friend and playact."

  "Playact?"

  Lady Dunbridge nodded. "I wanted you to pretend to pay court to Sarah in order to make Lord Shepherdston re-consider what he'd told her about you being a much more suitable lover for her than a younger man." She paused to catch her breath. "I had no idea that the sight of you and the sound of your voice would remind me of how much I loved you — how much I still love you."

  "Say it again," he commanded.

  "I love you, Robert. I shall love you until I die and beyond."

  "God, Henrietta, I've waited close to half my life to hear you say that."

  "I don't really want a double wedding," Lady Dunbridge confided. "I don't want to compete with another bride on my wedding day — even if Sarah is the other bride. But if you and I get married right away, there will be no reason for Lord Shepherdston to marry Sarah. He'll know that she'll have a home with us. And he'll know that you will always take care of her."

  "Which is why you suggested a double wedding…"

  Lady Dunbridge nodded. "Shepherdston isn't in any hurry to wed and Sarah's young enough that she can afford to wait for him to make up his mind — now that he's sworn not to let Reggie Blanchard force her hand. Whereas, I've waited years to marry you."

  Lord Mayhew stared at the two dancers. "Tell me, my love, does your niece happen to have a strawberry birthmark?"

  "Yes," Lady Dunbridge answered. "She does. On her…" She blushed again. "Derriere?"

  Lady Dunbridge nodded. "How did you know?"

  "I caught a glimpse of it early this morning when I arrived at Jarrod's town house for breakfast." He reached down and removed Henrietta's mangled handkerchief from her hands. "Jarrod and I ride together on the Row in the park two days a week and breakfast afterwards. But it was raining this morning and I knew we wouldn't be riding so I arrived for breakfast earlier than expected and inadvertently interrupted a most ardent kiss between Jarrod and a red-haired young lady with nice legs and a strawberry birthmark on her posterior."

  "Oh, my…Sarah!"

  "You knew she was at Jarrod's house alone at five-thirty in the morning?"

  Lady Dunbridge shook her head. "I found out afterwards." She looked up at Robert Mayhew and suddenly the words came tumbling out as she explained everything that had happened since they'd been put out of the rectory. "Sarah loves him. She's loved him since she was a little girl. But Lord Shepherdston wants nothing to do with marriage."

  Lord Mayhew nodded. "He has reasons for not wanting to marry that reach deep into his childhood. A childhood that was lonely most of the time and exceedingly difficult the rest of the time." He sighed. "I don't pretend to understand all of what he feels, but I know that he feels unlovable, unworthy of being loved."

  "I think Sarah understands that," Lady Dunbridge confided. "Or at least, senses it. She's determined not to marry anyone else. As long as he remains unmarried, she's going to do the same — even if that means pursuing the life of a courtesan."

  Lord Mayhew didn't like the sound of that. "Do you know anything about Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women?"

  Lady Dunbridge shook her head. "I've never heard of it."

  "Your niece was carrying a card with that name and a Portman Square address printed on it. She dropped it on the floor of Jarrod's study."

  "Did you say a Portman Square address?"

  "Yes, my dear, you heard me correctly."

  "Would that address happen to be number forty-seven Portman Square?" she asked.

  "It would," he told her. "Do you know it?"

  "That house belonged to my husband," Lady Dunbridge said. "He purchased it for his mistress."

  "You knew?" he asked gently.

  "Of course I knew," she said with a sigh.

  "I always wondered," Lord Mayhew told her. "Despite what you may think, his association with her wasn't common knowledge."

  "It was to me," Lady Dunbridge answered. "I knew he had a mistress in a house in London. But I didn't know where it was or who owned it until I accidentally came across the deed to it after he died. It was tucked into a packet of correspondence he'd addressed to me. I didn't want the house, but I saw no reason why the new viscount should have it, so I sent the deed to her." She was quiet for a moment. "I'm glad to know she's put it to good use."

  Lord Mayhew quirked an eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Oh, she's put it to good use, but not to the altruistic good you suppose."

  "Running a home for displaced women seems very altruistic," Lady Dunbridge said.

  "But things aren't always what they seem," Lord Mayhew reminded her. "That home for displaced women is one of London's most exclusive houses of pleasure."

  Lady Dunbridge widened her eyes.

  "I know because I've been there many times and was there again this morning."

  Lady Dunbridge bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor in an effort to hide her dismay.

  Lord Mayhew reached out and lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, raising her face so he could look her in the eyes. "I tell you this not to hurt you, Henrietta, but to be completely truthful. I'm a man of normal appetites and have patronized Portman Square many times in the past and enjoyed it."

  "But she was my husband's…"

  "Sssh, my love." He placed his finger against her lips. "I knew who she was. I've patronized her house of pleasure because it is convenient and entirely discreet, but I've never sought pleasure from her. I never shared her bed. And this morning I was there for an entirely different reason."

  "What reason?" Lady Dunbridge fought to keep the jealousy out of her voice.

  "Jarrod sent me to make sure your niece wasn't one of the residents there."

  "He knows Sarah isn't…"

  Lord Mayhew shook his head. "He did, but I did not. He went to great pains not to reveal her identity or even hint that she was a young lady of good family. When I found her card on the floor of his study, I assumed Jarrod had sent for one of Madam — " He caught himself before he said the name he was sure would distress Henrietta. "I assumed she was one of the girls who reside at Portman Square. But Jarrod knew better. He was terrified that your niece meant to make good on her threat. He ordered me to go to Portman Square to interview any red-haired innocents in residence and to make certain they stayed that way until he arrived."

  "Did you?"

  "I did," he confirmed. "I spent the morning playing whist with three innocent red-haired young women. And I'm happy to report that your niece wasn't among them."

  "Thank heavens."

  "I paid for the time I spent with the three girls so no one else could purchase them. We spent a couple of hours or so playing half a dozen rubbers of whist. For cash," he said. "It cost me one hundred and eighty-seven pounds of my own money and another one hundred and sixty-three pounds of Jarrod's money to pay my gaming debt to the girls and to purchase the freedom of two of them."

  "Only two, Robert?" Lady Dunbridge was surprised. "What about the third one?"

  "She chose to stay," he replied. "I tried to dissuade her, but she chose to remain. It was her decision. The point is that Jarrod sent me to protect Sarah's virtue. He isn't immune to her. Believe me, the kiss I witnessed this morning was a prelude to lovemaking. There was no doubt about that. Jarrod wanted her, but he stopped short of taking her."

  "He swore nothing happened," Lady Dunbridge muttered indignantly. "He swore she kept her cloak on."

  Lord Mayhew smiled. "She had it on. He had it hiked almost to her waist, but she was wearing her cloak."

  "But he wants a lover and she wants a husband." She looked up at Lord Mayhew. "And I won't allow him to make her his mistress. I can't. Even if that's what she says she wants, because I know that is no life for her."

  "You may not be able to prevent his taking her to bed if that's what she wants," he told her. "But we can ensure that he makes it legal."

  "How?"


  "By reminding him that he compromised a young lady and that I was witness to it."

  "Forcing his hand?" She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Oh, Robert, he isn't going to like that at all and neither is she. Sarah wants him to come to her of his own volition. And I'd rather it happen that way, too."

  "I don't know if he'll ever decide to marry her," Lord Mayhew conceded. "But I know he'd agree to it if we forced him. He's too honorable not to. But he's having a very hard time keeping his hands off her, so we'll give nature a chance to take its course."

  "How long?" she asked.

  "When do you want to get married?"

  "Tonight," she answered.

  Lord Mayhew laughed. "Tonight is impossible, I'm afraid. I can't purchase a special license until I make a trip to Lambeth Palace tomorrow morning."

  "I suppose I can wait until morning."

  "Tomorrow it is," he assured her. "At nine?"

  Lady Dunbridge nodded. "Do you mind very much if we keep it a secret for a bit?"

  Lord Mayhew frowned. "For how long?"

  "I'd like to give Sarah a bit more time to do things her way. Maybe he'll fall in love with her. Maybe he'll decide he can't do without her…" Lady Dunbridge paused. "I wish she could stand up for me tomorrow, but given a choice, I'd rather have you…"

  "Then that's the way it will be," he promised. "Make some excuse to Sarah tomorrow morning. Shopping or errands to run. I'll meet you outside Ackermann's at eight-thirty," he said. "We can throw a huge celebration later after we've had some time to ourselves. I've waited twenty years, Henrietta. Forgive me if I'm a bit selfish."

  "Oh, Robert, I knew you'd understand. And it won't be for long. I promise. If she can't make him fall in love with her, then we'll force his hand."

  "In the meantime, we'll leave them alone together as much as possible and hope that they'll be doing what we're going to be doing every chance we get." He leered at her and waggled his eyebrows.

  Lady Dunbridge laughed.

  "I hope you've had enough of your dry spell, Henrietta," he continued, "because I have lots of ideas to inspire passion and I mean to try them all out on you."

  "Just be prepared, Lord Mayhew," she teased, "for I have a few ideas of my own…"

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

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  A great flame follows a little spark.

  — Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321

  "Lord Rob and your aunt seem to be getting along quite famously," Jarrod said, nodding at Lord Mayhew and Lady Dunbridge standing by the dance floor as he and Sarah waited to negotiate the dance steps of the quadrille. "For a couple recently met."

  "They're not recently met," Sarah told him, straining to get a good look at Lord Mayhew. "They're renewing an old friendship. Like us."

  "Heaven help Lord Rob if that's what they're doing," Jarrod murmured.

  "What did you think we were doing?" she asked. "Besides dancing, of course?"

  "I'm not certain," he admitted, eyeing her warily. "It looks as if we're only dancing. And it feels as if we're only dancing but I know there's something more. I know I'll be called upon to pay the piper."

  "You may relax, Jarrod," Sarah said pertly. "We're only dancing. And it isn't costing you a penny."

  "That's what you say, but I keep waiting for you to do something outrageous."

  "Such as?"

  "Demand another lesson."

  "In what?" Sarah opened her eyes wide in a show of innocence.

  "Kissing. Seduction. The art of slipping out of a hot, overcrowded ballroom and into the cool night air…" He grimaced. "I don't know. Something outrageous."

  "Perhaps I've decided to spare you the agony," Sarah told him. "Perhaps I've decided to let someone else further my education." She crossed her fingers as she stretched the truth, then hid her hand in the folds of her skirt so he couldn't see it.

  "You certainly dressed for the occasion." He glared down at her bosom. "Tell me, have you the modesty to wear a petticoat beneath it?"

  Sarah frowned. So they were back to that again. "How gentlemanly of you to ask!"

  He wasn't quite without manners. The tips of his ears turned red as Jarrod had the grace to blush at his own audacity. That was not the sort of question a gentleman generally asked a lady — especially a virginal young lady — in the midst of a ball.

  "Tell me, Jays, what is it about my gown you don't like?"

  "Nothing," he answered honestly. "Everything."

  "That certainly clarifies things," she commented dryly.

  He stiffened. "I fail to see the humor in the situation."

  "You would if you could see the expression on your face, Jays." She smiled up at him. "You wanted me off your hands. And you're supposed to be helping me find another suitor, yet you scowl at every man who dares look my way."

  "My scowl is the only thing keeping you safe," he said.

  "Don't be silly," she admonished. "I'm perfectly safe."

  He laughed. "Spoken with the true conviction of an innocent who doesn't know how much danger she's in."

  "How much danger can there be with you here to protect me?" she demanded.

  "More than you know," he said softly.

  "You're scowling again."

  He glanced at a crowd of young rakes waiting for the present dancers to relinquish their partners. "At the moment, my scowls are the only thing standing between you and certain ruin."

  "Cheer up, Jays." Sarah's brown eyes sparkled as she leased him. "We're dancing, yet you look like a man about to meet Madame Guillotine."

  "Why shouldn't I?" he countered. "When meeting Madame Guillotine might be easier? And I'm in danger of losing my head either way?"

  Sarah's smile grew broader. "Thank you, Jays. I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

  "I've paid you compliments," he said. "I believe I told you you were beautiful in the coach earlier this evening."

  "Yes, you did," Sarah agreed. "And you said my bosom was quite lovely. And I know you mean it because you keep staring down at it as if it were a window full of French pastries you can't wait to sample."

  "Blister it, Sarah," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I keep staring at your bosom because I keep waiting for your bodice to relinquish its grip and obey the laws of gravity."

  "And what will you do if it does?" she baited, turning her back to him as the steps of the dance took her away, then brought her back to face him. "Sample my pastries?"

  Jarrod all but broke out in a sweat. "Stop it, Sarah."

  "Stop what, Jays?"

  "Stop flirting with me," he warned. "And stop putting images in my head, lest you find yourself with more than you can handle."

  "Is it possible, Jays? Are you really in danger of losing your head over me?" There was a hopeful note in her voice that Jarrod couldn't fail to recognize. "Because in all the years I've known you, you never once hinted that you might lose your head for me."

  "I'm in danger of losing my patience," he snapped. "And my sense of humor."

  "You've already lost your sense of humor," Sarah pointed out.

  "Then don't force me to lose my patience," Jarrod cautioned once again. "It's all I have left." He closed his eyes in an attempt to blot out the image Sarah had put there. Images of him sinking to his knees on the Garrisons' marble dance floor in order to kiss and caress and taste the lovely bosom she had arranged just for him. And it was just for him — because Jarrod had no intention of letting any other man get close enough to view the bounty. His body responded to the mental images and Jarrod groaned as dancing became an effort of will.

  He stopped suddenly, at the end of a square, and the gentleman dancing beside them careened into him, knocking Jarrod sideways. Sarah missed a step and fell heavily against him. The twin points of her breasts pressed into his chest and her body molded itself against his for a brief second. Jarrod placed his hand at her back to steady her.

  Sarah looked up at him, a worried expression on h
er face. "Did I inadvertently tread on your toes?"

  "No."

  "You groaned," Sarah informed him. "As if you were in pain. I wondered if I'd trod on your toes."

  He couldn't help but smile at her innocence. "My toes are fine."

  "Then perhaps you should release me."

  Jarrod squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't realized he was still holding her against his chest until she'd reminded him. Bloody hell, but he was making a cake of himself in front of a hundred or so witnesses. And there didn't seem to be a blasted thing he could do about it. He exhaled, then slid his hand down the line of her spine and over the curve of her bottom, savoring the feel of silk and heat as he did so. He groaned again. Louder.

  She frowned. "Are you in pain elsewhere?"

  "Most definitely," he answered.

  "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

  There were a great many things she could do to alleviate his suffering, Jarrod thought. And all of them involved the sort of things no innocent should know. Damnation, but he ached with need. And all because Sarah tempted him with every breath she took. Bloody hell, but her dress was the most incredible garment he'd ever seen any woman wear. And he fervently hoped, for the sake of his peace of mind and her virtue, that Sarah never wore it again. "I think you've done enough already."

  "Have I?"

  "You know you have." He looked down at her, fixing his gaze on her soft pink lips instead of her soft breasts and realized they both had the same effect on him. Everything receded except the sight and scent and feel of her in his arms. He wanted very much to kiss her and his arms trembled with restraint as he fought to keep from pressing her closer and covering her lips with his own. It was all Jarrod could do to keep from ushering Sarah from the ballroom, up the stairs to the nearest bedroom, so he could satisfy his curiosity and slake his hunger by finding out what the devil was keeping her dress up.

  Sarah looked up at him and Jarrod's body tightened in response as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue in a self-conscious gesture that sent his blood rushing southward to the part of his anatomy throbbing against the front of his trousers.