The Temptation of Lady Serena (32 page)

“Aunt Ester, I don’t understand.”

She smiled. “Well, we couldn’t have you marrying in an everyday dress and we knew
you
wouldn’t bother buying one, so we bought the fabric in France and Madame designed it especially for you. Phoebe?”

Phoebe was followed by Catherine, Freddy, Phoebe’s sisters, Lady Beaumont, and Anna Rutherford. Serena’s eyes misted.

“No crying,” Aunt Ester ordered. “It will make your eyes red and we cannot have that.”

Mary slipped the gown they’d brought over Serena’s head. It was a deep cream, almost yellow. The low bodice was pleated in layers of lisse silk and the long sleeves were made of a single transparent layer of the same silk. Seed pearls were interspersed throughout the bodice and sleeves. The skirt was of thin silk with more layers of lisse over it to create a floating effect. Serena stared at her reflection. “Phoebe, Aunt Ester, it’s—it’s beautiful. I would never have chosen anything so fine.”

Phoebe laughed. “We know. That’s why we bought it. Now, for the rest.” She stepped back.

Mary deftly twisted Serena’s hair high, before pulling a few strands of curls down. Phoebe’s sisters gave Mary a diamond comb to hold the knot.

“That is something new,” Phoebe said.

Lady Beaumont placed a necklace of diamonds and peridot around Serena’s neck. The setting was the same type of gold filigree as her ring. Freddy handed her the matching earrings. “These count for something old. They are part of the Beaumont jewels. They’re yours now, my girl,” Lady Beaumont said.

Serena grabbed her hand before the older lady could withdraw it. She met Lady Beaumont’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Grandmama.”

Lady Beaumont sniffed and blinked. “You’re a good girl, and you’ve done more than I thought possible. You take care of them and him, and I’ll be more than happy.”

“And this,” Catherine said, holding out a diamond and sapphire ring, “is both borrowed and blue.”

Serena threatened to tear up again, but she was hurriedly bustled into the hallway where Uncle Henry was waiting.

He beamed at her. “I don’t know why it is that all my nieces always look so radiant on their wedding days. Serena, you are beautiful.”

Serena smiled mistily. “Thank you, Uncle Henry.”

“Come, my dear, you have a recalcitrant bridegroom who will not leave the Hall until he’s sure you are underway.”

“Isn’t he supposed to be at the church, or close to it?”

Uncle Henry chuckled. “He is, but he’s not. As I said, he refused to leave until he knew you were ready to leave as well.”

Phoebe’s lips twitched. “Why anyone should expect Robert to be easy to manage, even on his wedding day, is a mystery to me.”

She and the rest of the ladies descended the stairs ahead of them, to shoo Robert out of the Hall so he wouldn’t see Serena.

Once Robert was safely away, Uncle Henry escorted Serena to the waiting carriage and raised a brow. “Outriders?”

Serena shook her head and grinned. “Outriders.”

Once in the carriage, Henry assumed a serious demeanor. “Serena, you are sure this is what you want to do?”

Phoebe’s eyes danced with laughter. “Don’t worry. He asked me the same thing.”

Smiling, Serena said, “Yes, this is what I want to do.”

“Very well then, I’ll take you to the church. I think you’ve made a wise decision, my dear. I’m not at all sure that if you’d changed your mind, I could have kept Beaumont from carrying you off. He’s a very determined young man.”

Serena laughed. “True, Robert is nothing, if not determined.”

When they arrived at the church, Serena looked down the aisle toward the altar and placed her hand on Henry’s arm. She began her walk to the man who would be her husband.

Robert stared at her. The expression in his face made her want to run to him. The tall, handsome,
tonnish
gentleman, whose cultured façade hid his real strength and who he really was. Kind and gentle, aggravating and difficult. All of him was hers and she loved him.

Robert stared at Serena, and his chest seized.

Marcus nudged him. “She’s exquisite.”

“She is indeed.” At first, Robert thought he’d never seen her look more beautiful, but then an image of her in the morning light, her hair curling around her, made him think again.

She was beautiful no matter what she was wearing or doing, and she was his. He reached for her, only to be held back until Henry gave him her hand.

Robert gripped it firmly as they said their vows. When she promised to be his forever, he searched her face for any lingering doubts and found none. Joy filled him. Finally, John pronounced them man and wife.

Serena smiled and Robert loosed all the emotions he’d been holding in. He took her face, kissed her, then swung her up into his arms and proceeded back up the aisle to the door, ignoring the shocked silence and then the laughter.

Serena hid her face in his shoulder. “What happened to not making us the talk of the
ton?
”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. Do you mind?” he asked, contritely.

“No. Not every lady gets to be carried out of church.”

Robert smiled. “Serena, are you happy?”

She brought his head down and kissed him. “I am the happiest woman in the world.”

Robert returned her kiss. “And I am the happiest man.”

 

Lord Huntley sipped his champagne. “Who would’ve thought we’d be celebrating Beaumont’s wedding and enjoying it so much. Typical of Beaumont to create a scandal by kissing her and then carrying his bride out of the church.”

Lord Wivenly lifted his glass in salute. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Mr. Featherton raised his quizzing glass. “I don’t know about that, he looks happy enough.”

Wivenly, taking a sip of champagne, regarded the newly married couple and scowled.

“Look at Evesham, Worthington, and Rutherford—they all look happy,” Mr. Featherton complained. “They make being leg-shackled seem not so bad. Not good, mind you, but not as bad as I’ve heard.”

Rupert joined them. “You look to be having a serious conversation at this table, unlike the rest of the company.”

Wivenly made room for him. “We were discussing the merits of marriage.”

Rupert chuckled. “Ah. Well, I know Robert’s relieved to finally have the deed done.”

“That, Stanstead, was rather obvious,” Wivenly said dryly. “Been to a good number of weddings. This is the first time I’ve ever seen the bride borne off by the groom.”

Rupert smiled. “Couldn’t get to the church fast enough this morning, until we reminded him he still had to wait for Serena. Then he wouldn’t budge until he knew she was on her way. He even had outriders for her carriage.”

Wivenly made a disgusted face. “He’s lost his mind, the besotted fool. Never let a woman get her talons that far into one. It never ends well.”

Rupert laughed. “I see some gentlemen here who’d beg to differ with your assessment.”

Huntley scowled. “It’s no laughing matter. With the three of them married, Beaumont especially, my mother will be after me to do the same. Don’t know that I’ll forgive him for this.”

Wivenly nodded. “There must be some way to avoid the parson’s noose.”

Rupert smiled. “Anyone care to make a wager as to who’ll be the next to fall prey to cupid’s arrow and wed?”

The men pulled out their notebooks and written bids hit the table. Rupert sat back, content with the furor he’d caused. When he lifted his drink in a toast, his attention was caught by a slender young lady with blond curls dressed in celestial blue standing with Phoebe’s relatives.

“Stanstead, are you listening to me?” Huntley demanded.

“What? Oh yes, got all my attention.” Rupert bowed. “I’ve just seen someone I need to speak with.”

The Honorable Miss Charlotte Marling stood next to Lord and Lady St. Eth listening absently to their conversation with Lord and Lady Fairport. She surveyed the guests on the lawn, and her eye was caught by a tall blond gentleman standing in a group of other men. Charlotte saw him glance up and quickly turned her gaze.

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek
of Ella Quinn’s newest historical romance in the
Marriage Game series,
DESIRING LADY CARO,
coming in April 2014!

 

 

 

G
ervais, Earl of Huntley, heir to the Marquis of Huntingdon, leaned back against the soft leather squabs of his traveling coach as it moved along the Great North Road toward London. The previous day, he’d attended the wedding of his friend, Robert Beaumont. Huntley couldn’t believe that Beaumont, one of London’s foremost rakes, had fallen in love. If it could happen to him, no one was safe. In fact, Huntley’s friends were being caught in the parson’s mousetrap much too frequently for comfort.

Evesham, Rutherford, Marsh, and Worthington? All married. There must be some way to avoid their fate. Marriage meant dancing attendance on one’s wife, children demanding one’s attention, and getting into all sorts of trouble, not to mention the estate his father would foist on him, in Suffolk of all places. He shuddered.

No, marriage was not to be thought of, not until it was necessary for him to produce an heir. His stomach tightened at the thought of being caught in the quagmire of so-called “wedded bliss.” What was worse, married men thought others should join their club. He needed to get away from his friends and their “influence” immediately.

Tapping on the roof of the coach, he called to the coachman, “Spring ’em.”

The carriage moved faster, and the scene outside his window passed by swiftly but didn’t change overmuch. Hedgerows and fields led to more hedgerows and fields.

He turned his attention to his friend, William, Viscount Wivenly. “I’ll tell you, Will, my mother and older sister are going to be impossible to live with now that Beaumont’s been riveted.”

Wivenly heaved a sigh and slouched down in the seat as if to hide. “I know what you mean. Mine won’t be any better. I think I’ll leave for a while.”

Huntley raised a brow. “Where? It’s too early for hunting.”

His friend’s lips pursed in concentration. “No, I mean, leave England. I’ve always wanted to travel and now that the war’s over, that’s just what I’ll do.”

Travel was a good idea. He nodded. “Europe?”

Wivenly’s brow creased, and he got a faraway look in his eyes. “I think I’ll go to the West Indies. After listening to Marcus and Lady Marsh’s stories, I’ve a hankering to see turquoise water and half-dressed native women.”

Huntley straightened and uncrossed his legs. “The West Indies?”

If he mentioned going to the West Indies to his father, the old man would reopen the dungeon and have him chained there. That was a damnable part about being the heir; even at three and thirty, the old gentleman still had too much control over him. “Will your father let you?”

Rubbing his chin, Wivenly replied hopefully, “I think he might. We have some property there, and he’s still young enough not to worry about dying while I’m away. Always going on about me not having a Grand Tour.”

Huntley leaned back against the dark brown squabs. “I think I’ll go to the Continent. Germany, Austria, Italy. Practice some of the languages I’ve learned. Italy’s got to be a damned sight warmer than it’s been here this year.” The thought percolated in his mind. “Got an aunt in Venice I haven’t seen for years. I hear Italian women are passionate.”

Will, who’d been looking out the window as if he could already see the ocean, turned back around. “Isn’t that Lady Horatia?”

Huntley glanced at his friend and frowned. “How the devil do you know that?”

Wivenly shrugged. “M’mother’s bosom friend. Heard your aunt caused your grandfather to have apoplexy.”

“Something was bound to the way he went on about everything.” Huntley lapsed into silence, until Wivenly took out a deck of cards.

“Penny a suit?” he asked. “Don’t care to be fleeced by you before quarter day.”

Smiling, Huntley put down the folding table and picked up the cards Wivenly dealt. “I’d let you win some of it back.”

 

 

 

As the last trunk was strapped to Huntley’s coach, his twelve-year-old sister, Ophelia, clasped her hands together.

“Oh, Huntley!” she cried. “Bandits will attack you, and you will be lost to us forever.”

“Good Lord, Lia, this isn’t Drury Lane.”

She dropped her arms. “I’d make a
wonderful
actress, just like Mrs. Siddons.”

“Huntley,” his mother said, her mouth set in a line, but her eyes dancing, “watch your language. Lia, young ladies do not become actresses.”

Not willing to surrender, Lia retorted, “But I’d make our fortune.”

“Then marry a wealthy man,” he said drily, then added before that idea could take root, “We are sufficiently well off that you have no need to worry.”

He had no idea from whom his sister inherited her excess of emotion. His mother was steady as a rock. This needed to be nipped in the bud. The actresses he was acquainted with might earn a great deal, but not on the stage.

Mama embraced him, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and smiled. “Have a good trip. I suppose we will not see you until spring.”

He jumped up into the coach. “Probably not. I’ll send word when I start my way back.”

The next day he and Will had met up in London to make the trip to Dover together. Now, after a neat dinner, they sat in a private parlor with a decanter of brandy. Though he’d never admit it, he hadn’t been so excited about anything since he’d gone to Oxford. He’d finally get to see all the places he’d only read and heard about.

Wivenly dealt the cards. “What did your father say?”

Huntley grinned. “Made me promise not to bring back a wife.”

Giving a bark of laughter, Wivenly picked up his cards. “No chance of that. But I suppose you didn’t tell
him.
”

Huntley picked out a card and discarded it. “No. I just said I’d not think of marriage until I returned home. Unfortunately, he’s got it in his head I must marry then. I take it your father didn’t raise a fuss?”

Wivenly grinned. “Winked at me and told me he had a spare.” He scowled at his cards for a moment. “Appears we’ve got some family problems in St. Thomas, therefore it’s a good thing I’m going.”

Early the next morning, Huntley clasped his friend’s hand, before Wivenly walked up the gangplank to the large merchant vessel bound for Jamaica. “Safe trip, Will. Don’t forget to come back.”

Wivenly laughed. “Good luck to you, my friend. Enjoy the Continent and all it has to offer. I hear the Italian ladies are particularly lovely.”

Grinning, Huntley retorted, “I’ll let you know.”

He strode farther down the dock to his packet bound for Calais, looking forward to months of unfettered freedom.

 

Huntley knocked on the large ornately carved door of his aunt’s palazzo
.
At last, two months of travel through France, Germany, and Austria, some of it tedious, most luxurious, were over. He looked forward to staying in Venice for an extended visit—provided the women of Venice proved as warm and welcoming as the Italian weather. The door was answered by a tall somber servant just past middle age.

“La Valle, who is here?” A low, musical, voice, floated down.

At the top of the marble stairs stood the most beautiful creature Huntley had ever beheld. At first, he thought she was a figment of his imagination. Shaking his head, he blinked before gazing at her again. No, he was right the first time. Fair, flaxen hair curled around her face. The eyes fixed on him were wide and set under perfectly arched brows. And Lord, her lips. There was only one good use for them. Kissing. More specifically, kissing him.

His body hardened as if he hadn’t had a woman in months, which was certainly not the case. She was so exquisite, even the heavy frown marring her countenance couldn’t make her less than beautiful. Only his old nurse had frowned at him like that, but it hadn’t made him want to . . .

Pulling himself together, he bowed. “Lord Huntley, at your service.”

“You are early.” She pressed her lips together. “We did not expect you for another few days.”

As the seraphic creature turned on her heel, the costly silk of her light turquoise gown swished around her. Who the deuce was she? He’d never heard of Horatia having any children. He grinned to himself. A widow perhaps? She walked away, stopped, and turned, brows furrowing. “Don’t just stand there, follow me. Lady Horatia will want to see you.”

Huntley checked to insure his mouth wasn’t hanging open and started up the stairs. “Yes, of course. I would like to refresh myself first. I’m in no fit condition to meet my aunt.”

Though her frown deepened, it had no power to distract him from rosy lips. “You may bathe and change later.”

“If you wish.” He remembered his mother telling him that if he scowled his lips would grow that way. “I’ll wager you are much prettier when you don’t glower.”

She speared him with a glare. “Why, my lord, should I wish to be pretty for you?”

He could think of a number of reasons, but in her current mood, she’d probably not be receptive. “Very well then, take me to my aunt.”

She glanced at the ceiling with a look of long suffering. “
That
is what I’ve been trying to do.”

Hmm. Prickly. That wasn’t an attitude he generally had directed toward him. Picking up his pace he followed the mystery woman.

Turning once more, she led him into a large, magnificent pale blue room trimmed with gilt. Brightly colored tiles paved the floor and louvered doors led to a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal.

“Godmama,” his nemesis said, “here is Lord Huntley.
Early.
”

She infused the word with so much disapproval he was, again, forcibly reminded of his old nurse.

His lips twitched, but he managed to keep his expression grave as he bowed. “Aunt Horatia, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you. It was not my intent.”

A woman, just a few years older than he, whom he recognized from her portrait in the gallery at his ancestral home, Huntingdon Abbey, sat at a table sipping white wine. Her bright green eyes peeked up through dark lashes. She was still a beauty. Her hair was dark brown, but her eyebrows and eyelashes were much darker, almost black.

His aunt’s laugh reminded him of the tinkling of bells. “You silly boy, you’ve not put me out at all.” She glanced at the younger woman. “Did Caro berate you?”

Ah, she had a name. A lovely one at that, but who was she?

Horatia turned to Caro. “You know, you should not, my dear. A guest should always be made to feel welcome.”

Caro’s face turned a deep rose. “I am sorry, my lord.”

Wanting to ease her discomfort, he gave a slight bow. “I did not feel unwelcomed. Merely that my aunt was anxious to see me.” Huntley gave her his most charming smile. “I’m sure that was all you wished to convey, Miss?”

She curtseyed and in a cool tone said, “Lady Caroline Martindale.”

Martindale. She must be one of the Marquis of Broadhurst’s daughters. The eldest. Huntley thought she’d married, apparently not. What was she doing here? “Lady Caroline, my pleasure.”

His aunt waved her hand airily. “We are not at all formal at home. Call her Caro, and do not allow her to make you feel six again.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible but her blush deepened.

At least one of his questions were answered.

“You may address me as Horatia.” She took another sip of wine. “
Aunt
Horatia is sure to make me feel much older than I am.”

He tore his gaze from Lady Caro to his aunt. “We couldn’t have that.”

“Well then, Huntley.” Horatia smiled slowly, and he got the distinct impression she’d noticed his interest in Lady Caro. “I’m sure you’d like to bathe and change. You’re fortunate we are dining in this evening, for I shall tell you, we are a couple of gadabouts.”

Lady Caro tugged a bell pull and a footman entered. “Please escort Lord Huntley to his room.”

Huntley followed the man out of the parlor and up the wide marble stairs to another large room overlooking the canal. The chamber he was given was almost directly above the first drawing room he’d been in. A shallow balcony drew his attention and he walked out onto it to watch the activity on the canal below.

“My lord,” the footman said in Italian, “I shall have water sent to you directly.”

Huntley turned. A metal tub stood before the unlit fireplace.
“Grazie mille.”

His valet, Maufe, poked his head in from what must be the dressing room. “I’ll be with you in a moment, my lord. Just putting your kit away.”

“No hurry.” Huntley turned back to the balcony, taking in the view. Gondolas jockeyed for position in the canal, and people walked with an unhurried pace over the nearby bridge. His mind wandered away from the scene below and back to Lady Caro. He puzzled over what it was, beyond her beauty, that attracted him in spite of her obvious disinterest. It was almost as if she was being purposely rude. Perhaps it was a certain vulnerability that lurked beneath her prickly exterior. Much like a hedgehog, or the thorns on a rose. Yes, a rose was a much better analogy than a small silly looking animal.

Water being poured in the tub and his valet’s voice intruded on Huntley’s thoughts. “Yes, Maufe?”

“My lord, your bath is ready.”

Huntley soaked in the warm water. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the various calls from the canal. A vision of kissing Caro’s delightful lips floated in his mind. A pleasure he had every intention of enjoying. He jerked his thoughts away from his nether regions. That way led to marriage. A state he wanted to avoid. Yet Lady Caro was certainly a temptation.