Love With the Proper Husband (33 page)

“Good Lord, Gwen,” he murmured against her neck. “This is…”

She gasped and tugged at his pants. “Indeed it is.”

He fumbled to free himself from his trousers, then raised her leg to wrap around his hip. She gripped his shoulder and rested her back against the tree, and he slipped into her, the awkwardness of their position only increasing her arousal.

He moved within her, and she responded with the sheer delight she found in his touch and more, a bliss far beyond the excitement of their joining. It was indeed right and proper to be with this man, even here and now, under the setting sun, overlooking his world.

A primitive, animal desire drove her to meet his thrusts with a hard, fast urging of her own. To pull him deeper into her and push against him as if their very lives were at stake. The tense, hot wonder built within her with every stroke, every breath, every beat of his heart against hers. She wanted to scream with need, demand release and pure pleasure. And far too soon, her body convulsed around his and she did indeed scream softly, and she felt his shuddering release within her. For a moment neither moved, shocked by the intensity and the speed of their joining. At last he sagged against her.

“I have been thinking lately, Marcus”—she swallowed hard—“that I am terribly tired of being proper.”

He made an odd sort of choking sound against her neck. “I daresay you needn’t worry about that again.”

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. He joined her and they clung together and laughed with a passion nearly as intense as their lovemaking. Laughter that came from a delightful sense of satisfaction and a joy she’d never imagined but now embraced in every fiber of her being. He moved away just enough to allow her dress to fall back into place and give him room to recover his trousers. Then he pulled her back into his embrace.

“I fear you might be rather bruised tomorrow.” He winced in sympathy. “I suspect this tree is not the most comfortable thing to make love against.”

“I scarcely noticed, nor did I care. However”—she kissed him firmly—“next time you can be

against the tree.”

He lifted a brow. “And will there then be a next time?”

“Oh, I can almost guarantee it.”

He laughed. “I think I shall quite enjoy having a wife who is tired of being terribly proper as long as her improprieties are with me and me alone.”

“Of course, my lord.” She flashed him a wicked grin. “At least for the next seven and a half years. His eyes narrowed. “Forever, Gwen.”

“If I recall correctly, this condition about seven and a half years was your idea.”

“That was before.”

“Before?”

“Before I knew how incredibly lucky I was. Before I knew I had stumbled into the best thing to ever have happened to me. Before I realized seven and a half years, even a lifetime, with you will not be nearly enough.” His gaze searched hers. “I promise you, Gwen, you can trust me. With your future and the future of your nieces and your children, our children.”

She gazed at him and knew, with a surety she’d never known before, that she could indeed trust this man with the rest of her life. And her heart.

“Forever, Gwen,” he growled. “Say it.”

“Because if I say it aloud I’ll be happy?” She couldn’t help the teasing note in her voice.

“Because if you say it aloud we’ll both be happy.”

Her heart caught at the look in his eye.

“Very well, Lord Pennington.” She smiled up at him and realized love wasn’t at all a trap.

“Forever.”

It was a gift.

Chapter Seventeen

Even when a man has the best of intentions, it may be not be enough, because in the end, he is but
a mere mortal. Some things even a good man cannot change.

Gwendolyn Pennington

Happiness was certainly not at all overrated.

Indeed, it was a kind of constant euphoria that underlaid her every step, her every breath, the very beat of her heart. She was inclined to laugh for no particular reason, even to giggle. It was suspiciously like the delightful sensation brought on by brandy without the unpleasant aftereffects. Gwen sailed down the stairs to join her husband and Berkley in the enjoyable conversations, and often debates, that marked any evening Marcus’s friend joined them for dinner. It had been nearly a week since Gwen had admitted her love for her husband. Certainly, in a logical, rational part of her mind, she knew the intensity of her feelings would no doubt change with time, would ease and mellow, but she suspected that, like the patina on fine furniture, it would become even richer with the years.

Forever.

It had the loveliest sound to it.

The girls too were happy. They quite liked their new life and their new home and appeared at last to like their aunt as well. Gwen had just finished wishing them a good night, leaving them in the capable hands of their Grandmama Pennington, who took great delight in ending each day with a story. She too seemed content these days.

Gwen swept into the parlor and pulled up short. Marcus and Berkley and a stranger quickly got to their feet.

“Gwen.” Marcus stepped toward her, an odd look on his face. “We have an unexpected guest.”

“So I see.” She cast the visitor a welcoming smile.

He was tall and rather attractive and struck her as vaguely familiar although she was certain they had never met.

“Allow me to present my wife, Lady Pennington. Gwen.” Marcus’s voice was controlled but there was an uneasy glint in his eyes. “This is Lord Townsend. Your cousin.”

Shock stole her voice, and for a moment all she could do was stare. A myriad of intense emotions swirled through her, none of them logical. So this was the man who had taken her father’s title and her home. She knew full well her reaction to his presence was irrational: her cousin had done nothing untoward, indeed, nothing whatsoever to deserve her enmity save be her father’s only male heir. He was as much a victim of society’s rules as she. Although it was hard to think of someone who had reaped nothing but benefits as a victim.

“Lady Pennington. Cousin.” He stepped toward her, and she noted he had the decency to realize this meeting was not especially easy for her. “I regret that we have not had the chance to meet before now.”

She drew a long, steadying breath, lifted her chin, and held out her hand. She managed to keep her voice calm and her hand steady. “As do I, my lord. It is good to meet you at last.”

The room itself seemed to let out a sigh, as if it, along with its inhabitants, had held its breath in anticipation of her reaction.

Townsend took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “Please call me Adrian; we are family after all.”

“Yes of course,” she murmured. He bore a familial resemblance to his sister, but the features that were not the least bit attractive in a female were quite handsome in the masculine version. She withdrew her hand and cast him a pleasant smile. “I must say, your visit has taken me by surprise.”

Berkley snorted, then coughed apologetically.

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I only returned to England recently and…” Townsend glanced at Marcus.

“Gwen,” Marcus said coolly, “Lord Townsend is here about the girls.”

Her heart stilled. “What about them?”

Marcus’s expression was matter-of-fact, but concern showed in his eyes. “There is apparently a problem as to their guardianship.”

She took her cue from her husband and forced a calm note to her voice, ignoring the knowledge in the back of her mind that, for once, Albert had been right. “What sort of problem?”

“He seems to think he should be their guardian,” Berkley blurted, then winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I see.” The level tone of her voice belied the churning in her stomach. “And why is that, my lord?”

“Adrian, please.” Townsend had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “It has come to my attention, cousin—may I call you Gwendolyn?”

“You may not,” she said without thinking, ignoring Marcus’s warning glance.

“Very well.” Townsend nodded. “Lady Pennington, when I returned home, my sister informed me you had taken charge of your nieces. At first I thought that was as it should be. You are their closest living relative.”

“Indeed I am.”

“However, information I did not have then has come to my attention, and I now believe it is in their best interests”—Townsend drew a deep breath—“that I take them into my keeping.”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

“What is this new information?” Marcus said quickly.

Townsend hesitated. “The Loring children are the beneficiaries of a substantial inheritance. As head of the family, I am in the best position to oversee their finances as well as provide the proper atmosphere for their up-bringing.”

“With you and your sister?” Gwen cast him a scathing glare. “She doesn’t even like them. How can you possibly think growing up in a place where they aren’t liked or truly wanted for that matter would be best for them? For anyone?”

“Gwen.” Marcus placed a quieting hand on her arm and directed his attention to Townsend. “I am more than capable of overseeing whatever this inheritance amounts to. If you are concerned as to my honesty, you should understand my own finances are quite respectable and in order. However, I am more than willing to sign whatever legal documents you feel are appropriate to ensure their legacy remains intact for their future.”

“I do appreciate that, my lord, but there’s far more to all this than simply money.” Townsend chose his words with care. “Paul Loring, the girls’ father, was a friend of mine. In point of fact”—

Townsend’s gaze met hers—“I counseled him against running off with your sister.”

“How very thoughtful of you.” Sarcasm dripped from Gwen’s words.

“Do not take my comment in a manner in which I did not intend, Lady Pennington.” Townsend narrowed his eyes. “I had nothing against your sister. We had never met. At that time I had little specific knowledge of your branch of the family. As you are well aware, our connection is very distant. In truth, not until your father’s death did I discover I was his only heir.

“Nonetheless, from what Loring told me of the matter, I did know your father was set against a match between him and your sister. Paul was my friend, and any marriage that did not have the blessing of family seemed to me ill-advised. Besides, he was but twenty years of age and far too young, in my opinion, to wed. Regardless, he paid no heed to my concerns.”

Townsend’s gaze met hers. “Do you know anything of your sister’s husband?”

“No.” Gwen clasped her hands together in an effort to stifle the panic building inside her. “I was but a child when Louisa married. I barely even remember her.”

“I see.” Townsend considered her thoughtfully. “Paul Loring was the youngest son of the Earl of Stokes. As such, he could not inherit the title, but he was the beneficiary of a substantial fortune through his mother’s family. I don’t remember the exact details, but I do recall it was rather unusual. At any rate, wealth, youth, and love can be a powerful combination. He and your sister were gone before anyone knew what they were about.”

Berkley’s brow furrowed. “I dimly recall hearing about this. It was quite a scandal, if I remember.”

“As interesting as this is, Lord Townsend,” Marcus said, “I do not see where it is pertinent to our current discussion. I concede that you were Mr. Loring’s friend. But Lady Pennington is the children’s aunt.”

“Yes, of course. However…” Townsend pulled a folded paper from his waistcoat pocket. “I have recently come into possession of a letter from Paul—Mr. Loring—apparently written some years ago.”

“And?” Fear gripped Gwen’s heart.

“In it he requests that, if anything should happen to him or his wife, I should take custody of his children.” Genuine regret shone on Townsend’s face. “I am sorry.” He handed the letter to Marcus.

“I don’t believe a word of it.” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. “Even if I did, you cannot come into my home, announce you have my nieces’ best interests at heart, wave a letter that may or may not be legitimate, and, oh yes, mention they have a considerable fortune you would be all too happy to mind for them, and expect me to simply say, ‘Of course, cousin dear, you may have these children to do with as you please.’ ”

“That’s enough, Gwen,” Marcus murmured, his attention on the letter in his hand.

“It most certainly is not.” She glared at him. Marcus ignored her. “It’s not nearly enough.” She turned her attention back to Townsend. “Well, you can’t have them. I absolutely will not permit it.”

“Nor will I.” Berkley stepped to her side.

“Marcus?” Gwen snapped.

“In a moment.” Marcus studied the letter. “I want to finish this.”

“Lady Pennington. Cousin.” Townsend stepped toward her. “Do understand, as you have said, you were a child when Paul and your sister married. How could you expect any man to entrust the future of his children to someone he had never met? He only wants what is best for them.”

“As do I.” Gwen’s voice rose. “And what is best for them is to remain exactly where they are. They are well provided for here with people who care for them. Nor shall they want for anything in the future. And they are happy. Happiness, cousin, is a rare commodity in this world, particularly when it comes to those who have no say in the running of their own lives. Children, and more to the point, female children. I will not let you take that from them.” She turned toward her husband. “Tell him, Marcus. Tell him he can’t have them.”