Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (24 page)

Chapter 15

S
heep. Smelly creatures,” Stephen muttered.

“My nose is so cold that I can’t smell anything,” Mercy said with a laugh.

Reaching over, Stephen squeezed her gloved hand where it rested on the pommel. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have brought you out in this weather.”

“Nonsense. I wanted to see the estate.”

The weather was bracing, not ideal for riding, but when Stephen had suggested an outing, she’d not been able to resist. She wanted to do everything with him, explore their new home.

“I think it’ll be lovely come spring,” she added.

Placing his hand behind her head, he held her steady while he leaned in and kissed her. “You’re lovely now.”

She felt the warmth suffuse her face. His remarks, delivered with such ease, always made her heart flutter madly. She wished she could return them, could tell him that he was remarkably handsome, because he was, but the words, which when spoken to her brought such joy, somehow seemed silly when said to a man.

Straightening, he looked out over the rolling land.

“If you don’t like the sheep,” she began, “perhaps you can convince your brother to allow you to raise something else.”

“The sheep belong to the tenants, who lease the land from him. Besides, it irks to ask my brother to
allow
me to do something.”

She felt a spark of guilt. He’d been forced into this because of his marriage to her.

“If you could do anything at all, what would it be?” she asked.

Shifting in his saddle, calming his horse as it sidestepped, he glanced around, studying the land, and she could see that he was giving a good deal of thought to her words.

“I would spend all day in bed with my wife—every day.”

She laughed. “Is that all?”

“And feed her strawberries.”

She shook her head at his silliness. “That’s not very ambitious.”

“It’s not, is it?” He gazed into the distance. “I gave my future so little thought. Until you came into it, I was content to take each day as it came. I made no plans. I was a gentleman, my brother gave me an allowance, and I was content. I can hardly fathom now that I settled for so little, so easily.”

“You were a very young man.” He still was. “And then you joined a regiment and that was not so little or so easy.”

“Yes, the military life. Of which I remember so very little.” He narrowed his eyes, clenched his jaw. “Horses, I think.”

“Pardon?”

“Horses. I’d like to raise horses.”

“For racing?”

“For the regiments.”

“Why don’t you then?”

Shifting his gaze over to her, he smiled. “You don’t see anything as impossible, do you?”

“Not if you truly want it. How badly do you want it?”

“I’m not sure I gave it much thought until recently. But smelling these sheep, I’ll want it more with each passing day. I’ll be selling my commission. That’ll bring in some funds. I have the salary the regiment paid me. I hardly spent any of it.” He shrugged. “It could be a start.”

“I think you should give it a go.”

She could see the wonder in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had anyone have such faith in me before.”

“How can I not? I know you. I know your courage and your determination. You have a strong heart. I regret that in losing your memories you lost sight of the remarkable man you are, but I have no doubt you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. Anything.”

“You humble me, Mercy. Damn, but you do.” He pulled on the reins, turning his horse about. “Come along, let’s get home so I can warm you.”

H
e warmed her in the bed, then he warmed her in the bathtub, the heated water lapping at her skin. She was nestled between his legs, her back to his chest, his hands gliding languorously over her.

“Do you think we shall ever grow tired of each other?” she asked.

“God, I hope not.”

She felt pleasure that had nothing to do with physical sensations spiral through her. “I fear you will grow bored with me.”

He trailed his finger along her neck, across her shoulder, down her arm. “I won’t.”

His words were spoken with conviction today, but what of tomorrow? Would he speak them as assuredly tomorrow? Or next week? Or next month? He’d been kind to her in Scutari but taken another to his bed. Had he told that woman that he’d never grow bored with her?

“What is the longest you’ve ever been faithful to a woman?” she asked.

“Do you really want to talk about all my conquests?”

She twisted around, the water splashing over the side of the tub. “Yes. Were there many?”

“Too many to count.”

“What was the longest—”

He touched his finger to her lips. “I’ve told you. I was a cad. There was never one woman who held my attention to the exclusion of all others.”

“You saw more than one woman at a time?”

He shrugged. “I made certain they understood . . . I had no desire to be limited to one woman.”

Her stomach dipped. She couldn’t bear the thought of him wandering. What sort of woman would want him desperately enough to take him on any terms? Oh, God, a woman such as she, who would lie to have him. “Then you must be frightfully bored with me already.”

He tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “On the contrary, I’ve never been quite so . . . enthralled. Each moment with you is a discovery. And this is truly odd . . . something I can’t quite fathom.”

His brow was deeply furrowed, his eyes so incredibly serious as almost to frighten her. “What? What is so odd?”

“I enjoy talking with you, just being with you almost as much as I enjoy making love to you.”

Releasing a light laugh, she buried her face against his neck.

“You find it humorous?” he asked.

“I find it remarkable.” She cradled his jaw, rubbed her finger over the abrasive stubble that he would no doubt shave before coming to bed for the night. It was darker than his hair, gave him a rugged, dangerous air. “I want a marriage like Claire and Westcliffe have. You’ve given me hope that we might eventually achieve that.”

“Claire and Westcliffe? You do not want a marriage such as theirs.”

“But I do. When they look at each other—it is so obvious they adore each other.”

“He married her for her dowry.”

“And you married me because of your son.” She shook her head briskly. “You’re correct. I should not have taken the conversation down this path.”

She settled back against him. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. “We’re to visit them at Christmas,” he said quietly. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

She would. She was content here, safe. She never wanted to leave. But they could not hide away forever.

“We should be with your family. It’ll be nice to have a proper Christmas.”

He folded his arms around her, hugged her tightly. “Ah, Mercy, forgive me. I forget. I suppose we were both in the Crimea last Christmas.”

Nodding, she ran her hand along his thigh, feeling the scar beneath her palm, grateful that she could touch it now and it caused him no pain.

“What was it like?” he asked quietly.

“Cold, miserable. We were working in the hospital twelve to fifteen hours a day. I was so exhausted. It was late. I was changing a bandage when I realized it was Christmas, and I began to sing
Silent Night
. Then everyone in the ward was singing it. I could not hold back the tears.”

“Was I gone by then?”

“Yes, you’d returned to your regiment. I thought of you, though. Wished you well.” She scoffed. “As I recall, I think I wished us both home by the next Christmas. I suppose I should be a bit more careful in what I wish for.”

“What would you like for this Christmas?”

Twisting around, she straddled his hips. “One to remember.”

“Knowing my family, that should not be difficult to grant you.”

I
t was a two-day journey by carriage to Lyons Place. Stephen had planned the journey so they would arrive in the late afternoon of Christmas Eve.

“So this was your father’s estate,” Mercy said, occasionally peering out the window, anxious for her first glimpse.

“I barely remember it,” Stephen said. “I had occasion to visit two years ago. I had tea with Claire on the terrace there.”

It was where his memories had stopped. Her stomach tightened. She wondered if returning would cause his memories to return. If he would look at something there and the intervening two years would flutter through his mind like the pages of a book riffled through in order to more quickly find a particular passage.

He sat across from her and Jeanette. John was sleeping on the bench beside his father, Stephen’s hand resting on his back, holding him in place. How John slept was beyond Mercy, but sleep he did for a good bit of the journey.

“I consider Ainsley’s estate more my home than this place,” he continued.

“Do you remember your father at all?”

“No.” He rubbed his jaw. “Seems to be a habit of mine, not to remember things.”

The statement was innocent enough that Mercy knew Jeanette didn’t understand the message beneath the words. From time to time, he would ask her a question about the Crimea—he would just toss it out as though it was truly insignificant, but she knew he was hoping to spark some memory. While she continually stressed that what he didn’t remember didn’t matter, he still seemed to search for the memories that eluded him.

“I suppose Ainsley will be here,” she said, to turn the topic from memories.

“No doubt. Mother. Leo. Possibly Lynnford and his family. Ainsley sent a message that they’d returned from the South of France.”

“I look forward to meeting him. He no doubt helped to shape you. Was he a good guardian?”

“We seldom got along. I don’t think I could have disappointed him more if I were his own son.”

“Surely, whatever disappointments he might have experienced are overshadowed by your heroics in the Crimea.”

“I wasn’t a hero, Mercy.”

“But you were.”

He gave her a hard glare. “Were you on the battlefield?”

“No, but I heard your name mentioned among many of the men we treated.” She issued a soft curse beneath her breath. “I keep vowing not to speak of war, and yet I do.”

“It is hard to overlook it. However, regarding Lynnford, you’ll no doubt find him very charming. His entire family is very charming.”

The carriage turned off the main road, and her stomach knotted. “We’re almost there, are we?”

“Almost.”

Leaning across, she squeezed his hand. “I’m glad we’re going to spend Christmas with your family.”

“And what of yours?”

She sat back. “It’s only Father, and he made his choice to be done with me.”

“His loss.”

She smiled. “I like to think so. Oh, look!” She pointed. “There it is. I didn’t expect it to look so . . . dark.”

“Foreboding, no doubt.” He glanced out the window. “It suits Westcliffe’s temperament.”

But inside could not have been more warm or welcoming. Candles were flickering amidst greenery. The spicy fragrance of the outdoors and the warm scent of cinnamon wafted on the air.

“You’ve arrived at last!” Claire exclaimed as she swept into the room, leading the others into the entry hallway, and took Mercy in her arms. “It’s such a dreadfully long journey. I was beginning to despair that you’d met trouble on the way.”

“Only a hungry lad who needs to be fed far too often,” Stephen said, but Mercy heard the pride in his voice, and it touched a special place in her heart.

Westcliffe took his brother’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve been here for Christmas since you were a lad.”