Incomparable Lord Meath: A Rebellious Sons NOVELLA Read online

  “Brought Bell’s friends and Wexford’s tenants and a few of my own.” He gestured at the men picking up their fiddles and flutes on the far end of the long portico. “And a few musicians.”

  “We need food,” she whispered back. “You should have warned me.”

  “The duke’s kitchen is mostly Irish. I dropped a word of warning. I may not obey the rules, but I’m not a complete dunce.” He gestured at the musicians. “Strike a note lads, the bride will hear you soon enough.”

  “You are shameless. Belden will have an apoplexy.” She turned and murmured to the footman by the door, who disappeared into the interior but left the door open.

  “The settlements are signed and they’re married now. He can have all the apoplexies he wishes. Bell needs a proper wedding day, and all she knows is Irish. Shall I introduce you to my neighbors?” He didn’t wait for an answer but led her down the stairs, using her for balance in more ways than he was prepared to admit.

  Honora followed, allowing this outrageous Irishman to use her for his own purposes, because it suited her to rebel on this day. She might regret it on the morrow, but his courage was contagious, and she loved that Meath considered Bell’s wishes instead of Belden’s. The marquess had had his own way for entirely too long and needed to be jolted out of his rut.

  The musicians launched into a rollicking tune as the viscount meandered through the crowd, greeting friends and tenants. The younger ones eyed the buffet being carried to the lawn, and a cheer went up as the earl of Wexford stumbled out to gaze upon the scene with wonder. Honora had summoned him, hoping the merriment would prevent him from falling back into the bottle too soon. She’d also told the footman to order the kitchen to bring only warm cider and the weaker ale for now.

  Wexford actually smiled, waved from the portico, then returned inside. Honora crossed her fingers and silently prayed as she curtsied to the earl’s red-faced brother and bewigged sister-in-law. She would never have taken them for nobility, but she remembered the country squires of her home, and saw little difference. Rural and city might have different ways, but human nature was the same across borders.

  Wexford reappeared with the new Lady Belden in tow. The bride was radiant, and the crowd shouted and hooted as she waved.

  “That’s the send-off the lass needed,” Evan murmured in her ear. “None of this quiet business as if we’re ashamed of her.”

  “Shall I fetch Belden?” she asked mischievously. “He’ll hate every minute.”

  “Leave them all be. We’ve done our part. Now let’s find a bite to eat and go admire what’s left of the rose garden or the cliff walk or any of the more pleasant parts of this great piece of useless land.”

  “Your leg is already hurting,” she admonished. “We’ll find plates and a bench and watch the dancing. I do admire your countryside and wish I could see more of it, but some other time.”

  Perhaps she could learn to enjoy the simple pleasures of the village when she returned home. She didn’t think it likely. Her mother and aunts ran the household. There’d be little for her to do. But today was not the day for fretting over it.

  “If you do not dance, what do you enjoy?” he asked, as if reading her mind. He took a plate from the table and began choosing delicacies for her. His action started a surge toward the food.

  “Opera,” she admitted. “I love music of all sorts. And books. I’d have a library of my own, if I could. Belden’s is very boring, so I must use the lending library. I enjoy working with children. A group of ladies have formed a small school for the younger servants so they might advance themselves. I am teaching them household mathematics. And now that you can no longer ride recklessly through the countryside, what do you enjoy?”

  “I’ve not had time to give pleasure much thought. The estate here was in ruins. It belonged to my mother’s family, and my father didn’t set foot on it after she left. So I’ve been learning sheep and potatoes and mangel-wurzels.”

  Honora laughed. “I cannot think mangel-wurzel very popular for eating.”

  He handed her a plate and began to fill another, while offering a long-suffering sigh. “No, although all the parts are edible, and they make good fodder for stock, they simply have not caught on. If only they would make me ruler of the world, I would insist on a plot of mangel-wurzel in every yard.”

  “You are bored and looking to change the world,” she suggested. “That won’t happen. You can change yourself and suggest changes to others, but forcing people to do what you think best is setting yourself up for failure.”

  “Watching them fail on their own is no more pleasant.” He led her toward a bench near the garden, overlooking the crowd. Food seemed more popular than the musicians.

  The bride was being passed from hug to hug. The groom was nowhere in sight—and no one missed him. Honora rather thought that was justice, but it was also a little sad.

  Hugging her fur-trimmed pelisse around her, she savored this companionable moment to recall in the dreary days ahead. She wished Meath did not live quite so far away. It was doubtful if she would ever return to these shores. Could she ever be as comfortable in her own skin as he was? Men had it so much easier. They knew their place in the world. Surely that added to his assurance and authority. He could go anywhere he liked, do anything that pleased him.

  Except dance. And ride. Both were pleasures she felt certain he had once enjoyed and would have been quite good at. She nibbled at ham and cheese and wondered how she might ask him about his limitations. She did not even know for certain what part of his limb ached.

  “So you manipulate and maneuver and fix peoples’ lives on a regular basis?” she asked, because she could not ask what she really wanted to know.

  “No more so than you do, I daresay.” He crunched on a chicken leg, then waved it at the crowd. “This is called organizing a party, not manipulating.”

  She chuckled and sipped her cider. “This is called throwing Belden’s wealth in his face and jeering. He won’t notice. But I’m glad Lady Bell is enjoying it.”

  “Are you?” He glanced down at her, his smile gone. “I had thought to start the dancing for you, if you wished, but you don’t seem interested.”

  That he would have risked the pain of dancing for her warmed all the lonely places of her heart. Once again, he was ruining her for the stark future ahead. “I love the music and wish I could hop and skip and frolic, but I’m not good at it,” she admitted ruefully. “I’m too solid and too close to the ground to pretend I’m a graceful wisp floating across the floor. And certainly not a lawn!”

  “Come along then, if you’re done with nibbling, let me show you what you are good at.” He set his plate on the bench and removed hers from her hands.

  At the tone of his voice, Honora felt her heart beat faster. She clearly remembered their encounter in the dark gallery. But this was broad daylight. Surely he did not mean. . . Of course not. Out of curiosity, she took Meath’s strong hand—ungloved, since they’d been eating. She could feel his calluses, knew they were from hard work and not just riding ponies, and the knowledge gave her a warm glow. He’d worked at what needed to be done despite his injured leg, unlike many another man she’d known.

  He helped her up, and she clung to his strength. Abandoning propriety, she let him lead her into the rose garden. “I am good at many things,” she said nervously. “None of them have to do with roses. I’ve not had a garden since I was a girl.”

  “But you could learn to enjoy gardening again, could you not?” he asked, crossing their sleeves in an allemande and swirling her beneath his arched arm to prove he would not break his back—or even topple. “Just as I could learn to enjoy opera again. It’s been some while since I’ve been, but I like music.”

  “Is there an opera house in Ireland?” she asked in surprise, breathless from the spin—and from being treated as if she were a graceful debutante.

  His warm hand encompassed hers as he led her toward a gazebo. “We have brilliant playwrights, but
London is where the profit is and where the talent goes. Perhaps someday, we’ll have grand theaters too. The Irish love a good play and music as well as anyone. We have our small productions.”

  “That’s good. It would be a shame to be denied the simple pleasures of imagination and creativity. But it seems you are literally leading me down the garden path, my lord. I think we should turn back.” She stopped to admire the lingering perfume of a dying rose.

  “No, not until you see that you have undiscovered talents. Your allemande was all that it should be and more. You recognize roses and what to do with them. You are not unskilled. We have no other duty but enjoyment this day. No one will miss us. Come here, and let me show you what I wanted to do all those many years ago, when we disagreed over so many topics.” He led her into the gazebo, then twirled her into his arms.

  The music drifted faintly from the lawn, as did the laughter and gaiety. Not even feeling the chill, Honora gazed up into Meath’s laughing dark eyes. They were brown, like hers, although his hair was that lovely golden-brown she so admired. There were crinkles in the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there ten years ago, but he’d filled out nicely. His shoulders were broad and square, and his chest. . . she sighed as he pulled her against him and bent his head to hers.

  She should resist. She knew she should. But today was her day for rebellion. She slid her hands over the wide chest she so admired.

  He enveloped her in warmth and strength. His kiss simply pleasured her lips for a while, until her heart started thumping, and his grip tightened. Then he deepened the connection until she dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat, gasped, and his tongue swept hers. He tasted of cider and smelled of fresh air and man. . . It felt so natural to succumb that she didn’t even attempt to fight him. In fact, she pressed closer, needing more kisses as she needed air to breathe.

  He groaned and ran his big hands down her back, pressing her into him, spreading kisses from her lips to her ear until she almost liquefied with sensations. Perhaps she boiled and became steam. He certainly left her with no functioning mind. When she stepped back to put space between them, he ran his hands up her waist to the curve of her breasts, and it was all she could do not to whimper with pleasure. Her womanly places more than tingled, they burned.

  She hastily shoved away and turned her back on him to hide the heat in her cheeks. “That is quite enough, sir,” she said, aiming for coldness and failing.

  “No, that is only the beginning,” he retorted, standing behind her and murmuring into her ear, creating a whole new pattern of vibrations that made her tingle. “Let me court you, my inimitable Miss Hoyt. Belden has given me permission.”

  “Court me? Me?” She swung around in startlement to study his broad-boned face to see if he laughed.

  He didn’t. He looked deadly serious. “Why is that so surprising? I should have done so last time we met, but I was young and stupid. I’m no longer that callow youth.”

  “But. . .” Shaken, she could hardly think. “No one has ever courted me. I have no dowry, no beauty, and even though Belden is powerful, he would no more consider doing favors for me than he would the scullery maid. Do not imagine elsewise.”

  He frowned and caressed a fallen strand of her hair. “Your inner beauty is reflected in your smiles, and I have more interest in a wife who challenges me than in one who brings me wealth. I can find wealth on my own. It’s all around us. But women such as you are rare.”

  She shook her head until her ribbons swung. “I am not rare. I don’t know what you’re about, but my family is in England and your duties are here. As much as I. . .” Shocked at what she’d almost said, she lifted her skirt and fled for the safety of the house.

  * * *

  As much as I would love to be courted by you. . . Honora shook her head at the foolishness of her wishes. She was twenty-seven years of age, and she still harbored silly romantical dreams. Perhaps she should devote less time to books and more time to practicalities.

  Of course, once she removed to her mother’s house, she would have no coin for books. That would settle that. She simply needed to stay busy until that time came.

  For the rest of the day she did just that, stayed busy, avoiding the temptation of Meath’s taunting smile and broad shoulders, until she saw him making his farewell bows and calling for his gig. She breathed a sigh of. . . not relief. She’d thought her heart crushed the last time he’d left. Now—she knew it would simply shrivel into a prune without his warmth and laughter. It would be so easy to be tempted by his worldliness, and her hunger for a kind word or two.

  But she was no longer a foolish miss who could be drawn in by kisses. She had seen how quickly couples parted after physical desire wore off. Married couples needed to be friends, to have an understanding, a joy in similar things that they could share. She and the viscount had none of that, plus they lived in two different worlds.

  That made her worry more about the new marchioness and Belden. She would have to show her uncle and his bride the better sides of each other—until her uncle sent her away for interfering, at least. Surely he would not let her go before the first of the new year—but that was only a few weeks away.

  Still hearing Meath’s deep voice and laughter, even after the guests had departed, Honora dived into packing for the morrow’s journey. The new couple had retired. She would not think of what they might be doing— But with Bell’s fractured wrist, perhaps the newlyweds had postponed the honeymoon.

  The viscount had diverted her wayward imagination to kissing and more. He had ruined her mind for all else

  Once she was satisfied the servants were able to set the duke’s house back to rights and still have time to prepare food for their journey, she retired after midnight. Exhaustion should have made it easy to sleep, but she tossed restlessly, aching for caresses she would never know again.

  The cock’s crow came too soon. Honora cursed the dawn, but dragged herself up when Sally arrived with a tea tray. Her once-loyal servant hastened on to the new Lady Belden’s chamber.

  Wondering if it was worth training a new personal maid, Honora found a simple wool bodice that she could fasten on her own. The sea journey here had been cold, she remembered. She would bring her heaviest shawl as well, and a bonnet that tied securely. She envied men who could wear breeches and trousers.

  Many of the guests intended to linger to watch the rest of the races, uninterested in returning to chilly London winter. But Belden had purchased his horses and was impatient to return to his routine. Servants scurried up and down the corridors, loading carriages and wagons to take his party to the waiting yacht.

  Normally, Honora would have overseen them. Now, knowing her place in her uncle’s household had been usurped, she saw no benefit in it. It might almost be simpler if she actually was a servant. She could ask for a good recommendation and hire herself out elsewhere. But she was a lady, and ladies only worked for family—and did not call it work, or earn a wage.

  The new Lady Belden emerged at the last minute, wearing a sweeping emerald-green traveling gown that Honora knew the seamstresses had worked on until the wee hours. Bell looked red-eyed and drawn, but even with her arm in a sling, she held herself regally as she lifted the elegant train of her gown with her good hand and descended the stairs. Honora had been debating whether or not to take the carriage with the newlyweds. Bell’s face decided the matter. The bride needed a friend.

  Belden didn’t object when Honora took her usual seat across from him. He buried his nose in his news sheet and left the ladies to their own devices.

  With the social skills she’d learned over the last years, Honora drew the bride out until they were conversing amicably and a little color returned to the bride’s cheeks. With Honora describing the various entertainments that could be expected in the city, Lady Bell was nearly bouncing in her seat with eagerness by the time they arrived at the docks. Honora wondered if she had ever been that young.

  Perhaps for a brief while she had been
excited by possibilities, until London society had discouraged her hopes. By the time that first season of decorating ballroom walls had ended, she’d grown cynical, and subsequently, she had stifled all her hopes and locked them inside her heart.

  Lord Meath had been right to force her to look at herself and her expectations. She needed to change as much as Belden did. She simply had fewer options—unless she created them herself.

  Chapter 6

  Evan’s driver raced the gig up to the docks almost at the very last minute. One did not take leave of an estate without innumerable delays. He waved his hat at the sailor manning the small vessel that would take him out to the waiting ship, and the man saluted in understanding.

  Ungracefully, as usual, Evan clambered down, ordered a boy to hold his horses, and had the driver help him transfer his valises into the waiting dinghy. Even if he was making an enormous fool of himself, he would not take a chance at losing the prize of a lifetime. He’d given London gentlemen ten years to see the value of that prize, and apparently, they hadn’t. Their loss and his gain.

  Of course, he could be all wrong about Miss Hoyt. She could be a sour spinster who scorned all men. But her kiss told him otherwise. Or she could be good in bed and an annoying termagant the rest of the time. That was entirely possible. Despite her demure demeanor, Miss Hoyt had strong opinions and wasn’t exactly the docile, retiring sort—a fact he enjoyed far more than he ought. Or worst of all, she could hate the countryside and never want to leave the city. That would be an obstacle to his restless nature. He was no longer a boy who could sleep all day and play all night, and that was all the activity a city had to offer for a man like him.

  But he wasn’t the sort to fret and do nothing. He kept moving forward. He’d abandoned his crude cudgel for a proper walking cane, but it was useless for climbing his way down to the dingy and up to the yacht. Once on board, his bad knee and twisted leg muscles nearly collapsed under him, forcing him to grab a rail to steady himself. He saw no sign of the ladies as he hobbled down to the men’s cabin.