The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler

Nineteen

H

arlowe descended the carriage, opened the umbrella, and held out his hand for Maeve. “Here we are.”

He felt her shudder. “I thought we’d never escape. Once she realizes,” she pointed to the door of Rowena Hollerfield’s house, “I shall know no rest.”

He seared her with a stern gaze. “When word gets round of your lodgings, it could hurt your standings in society.”

She snorted. “As if I give a fig about standings. I’ll have you know, Lord Harlowe. I’d just as soon as disappear from society altogether.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. He kept her hand and tugged her into his side, guiding her to the bright blue, knockerless door. “If you say so.” He pounded on the door, making a mental note to locate the knocker. It opened almost immediately. “Good afternoon, Stephen. I should like to present your new mistress. She will take up residence in the next day or so and we’ve come to tour the premises.” Harlowe’s best guess was that the boy was ten and four. “Is Agnes about?”

“Yesser, yer lordship.”

“Please round up her and Mary then. We’ll wait here.”

He nodded and took off running for the back of the house.

Harlowe studied the elegant foyer, seeing it through Maeve’s eyes. With its high ceilings and cream colored walls, it presented an understated sophistication compared to the ostentatious nature of some of the most upper echelon households of the beau monde. The flooring, an earth-toned marble, led to an embellished carpeted grandiose stairway, adorned with a balustrade carved of rich mahogany. Above the entryway table was an exquisite Venetian Murano mirror, its edges scalloped in silver and gold leaves. Harlowe had no doubt the gold was genuine.

Footsteps clattered from the back of the house then came to a sudden stop. Agnes had Mary’s arm, and the two stepped forward with Stephen coming up behind.

“Yer lordship.” Agnes dipped a less than perfect curtsy, tugging Mary into doing the same.

Harlowe inclined his head. “Agnes. Mary. May I present Lady Alymer? She is looking to let the place.”

“Milady,” Agnes murmured.

“Milady,” Mary echoed. She was very young. Harlowe could not begin to ascertain the younger girl’s age, though he did recognize her as larger than an infant. And a toddler. Other than that, he had no notion.

Both were dressed in rags that Harlowe would be pressed to replace. As was Stephen, who sidled up behind them.

Maeve smiled at them without censure. “Hello, ladies and sir.”

While Mary’s expression held avid curiosity, Agnes’s and Stephen’s were much more guarded.

“Agnes, you may send Mary and Stephen about their tasks. We thought you could give us the guided tour,” Harlowe said.

Alarm flashed in Agnes’s eyes but was quickly masked. “Of course, yer lordship.” She shooed the other two away and started with the parlor.

They moved quickly through the main floor, the morning room, the dining hall, office behind the stairs, before taking the stairs to the first level.

They started with his and Corinne’s suite of rooms. The only change Harlowe could see was the lack of dust. The wood since his visit had been shined to a polish. The bed linens freshly laundered and made up. The window panes were no longer dulled with grime. The connecting chamber, the one he’d slept in the night before, had also been spruced up and prepared for his return. He was touched, actually. Only, he wouldn’t be returning. Yet, he silently amended.

They moved down the hall to Rowena’s set: the bedchamber, her sitting room. The adjoining bedchamber had been converted into a storage closet of sorts filled with Rowena’s excess of dresses, riding habits, every conceivable hat one could imagine, and their matching fripperies. Everything appeared organized to a minute degree that boggled the mind.

“What’s on the third level?” Maeve asked her.

Agnes stopped and her expression was nothing short of stunned. “The nursery, my lady.”

“Nursery?”

“Er, Lord Harlowe’s wife… she—”

“Oh, yes. Of course, Agnes.” Maeve cut her gaze to him.

Harlowe managed to mask the shock roaring through him. He had forgotten Corinne was pregnant when he’d been called away. Called away?

It all seemed so long ago. Though pieces of his memory were returning, he almost wished he could leave the recollection of Corinne’s pregnancy behind. A thought that left him with more questions.

“This way.” Agnes led them back toward his former chamber and around a more discreet corner to another staircase and up. “The nursery is this direction, milady.”

Harlow resisted a cowardly urge to run. He followed Agnes and Maeve into the chamber. The sight hit him in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. Dark wood furniture was covered in a passel of soft blue fabrics, clearly never used. His throat closed up as another memory inundated him.

“You aren’t even showing yet, darling.”

Her small, dainty hand splayed her stomach. “I’m being silly, aren’t I? I’m so excited. Just think, a child of our own.” He was thrilled to see the joy in her face compared to the usual melancholy that marred her delicate features.

He grinned and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, though apprehension hovered over him like a cloud. Her demeanor change was as predictable as the weather on an open sea. “You’ve months to go, my sweet. I’m afraid patience is required. Something of which you appear short of.”

“I shall persevere.” She gave him a captain’s salute, then frowned. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“A day or so. I must check on Marcus. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Then why are you packing a bag?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lip poked out in a petulant pout. “When are you going to let those quarters go? When am I to meet your sister? It’s like I’m…” She stomped her foot. “Nothing but your dirty little secret.”

Irritation flooded him, but he bit it back. “Corinne, please, not this again. I’ve explained numerous times, it’s too dangerous.”

“It’s lovely,” Maeve breathed, jarring Harlowe into the stifling chamber.

“It needs air,” he said with a sharp edge.

Ignoring Maeve’s too observant eyes, Harlowe blinked and grasped for the steadying breath that remained just out of reach. He strode to the window, unlatched it, and shoved it open, then passed a palm over his face.

Had he truly treated her as his dirty little secret? The memories surged through him with force. Poor Corinne. She’d seemed to live beneath an umbrella of low expectation, hating it all the while with no idea how to dispel what she didn’t understand. She had been so young.

Sadness had enveloped her like a fog that neither he nor Rowena had been able to successfully penetrate. Had Corinne lived, her natural melancholia would have suffocated their marriage. Though she’d been sweetly thrilled with her pregnancy, he knew now that her happiness would have been short-lived. Guilt crawled over his skin, which he had no notion how to dispel.

Not to mention the unseen dangers he had no memory of. Those fears had opened another door: had Corinne been used in the crossfires of something? And if so, of what?

 

Maeve pretended not to notice Brandon’s discomfort as he dove for the window. The unused nursery was unsettling to say the least. “It’s beautiful,” she said, taking in the elaborately covered crib. It was blatantly clear to Maeve, Corinne desperately wanted a boy as she considered the fringed, sky-blue, chenille throw. The sheets in the cradle were of the softest silk and matched cushions in the nearby chair. How much time had Corinne spent in this chamber where no expense had been spared? Maeve’s heart broke for the sad, quiet girl she remembered.

Maeve strolled across the room, opposite of the window, hoping to spare Brandon unwanted attention, to a dresser. She pulled out the top drawer and found several stacks of cloth nappies. She looked in the next drawer and gasped. “Oh my.” Maeve lifted out an enchanting christening gown trimmed in Belgian lace. Carefully refolding the gown, she placed it back in the drawer, and smiled at Agnes. “It’s a lovely room.” She strolled over to a rocking horse and tapped it, sending it into motion, watching Brandon from the corner of her eye. His back was still to them. “Perhaps we can take a look at the nursemaid’s chamber.”

“Of course, milady.”

Brandon could follow at his own leisure.

Here, too, no expense had been spared. The bed was not the usual narrowed framed sort, but a size to accommodate the possibility of a child crawling in with his caretaker, should he become frightened in the night. It was perfect.

“If’n I might ask, ma’am, how… how old is the child now?”

“He’s a little over a year, I believe, and looks just like his father. He’s very rambunctious. Of course, Harlowe and Nathaniel—that’s his name—Nathaniel won’t be moving here. Lord Harlowe and I are not betrothed, Agnes,” she said softly. Her heart tugged at the words. She could marry him, she could be a mother to Nathan—she stopped the thought right there. How fair would that be to Brandon? To Nathan? Brandon’s own words were that he couldn’t remember his wife. What if he remembered later and it came between them? He needed his life back and without complications from her.

Agnes’s features twisted in confusion. “Oh.”

“Lord Harlowe and the baby live at Lord Harlowe’s sister’s home. Although Lady Kimpton is apt to bring him to visit from time to time.”

“What is this?” Brandon said from the door.

“This is the nursemaid’s chamber,” Maeve told him.

He grunted, unimpressed.

Maeve shot him a look. “Carry on, Agnes,” she said pleasantly.

“There are some other bedchambers fit for children through this door,” she said.

Brandon addressed Agnes. “Is there an attic?”

“An attic?” Her surprise was almost comical.

“Quit snapping at her, Harlowe.” Maeve turned to Agnes. She didn’t appear to take offense at his tone, but Maeve had to wonder what the devil his interest was in the attic.

“Oh, yesser. Follow me. ’Tis a bit dark.”

They followed her up another flight, this one narrow and hollow. Maeve felt as if she’d been plunged into a deep vat of water with no way out. She concentrated on her steps, breathing in shallow takes. It was her turn to express her need for an open window.

The door creaked with disuse. It was indeed dark, with only one window in the cavernous space. She maintained her position at the door, one hand gripping the frame, the other fisted at her side as she fought the suffocating sensations swamping her.

There were odds-and-ends pieces of furniture scattered about, a couple of trunks and the like. Brandon glanced at her, his frown speculative.

Black edged her vision. She fought it back, attempting to sound her normal self, addressing Agnes. “What of other rooms on the same floor as the nursery?” Her words sounded as an echo in her ears.

“There ain’t nothin’, milady. Just Miss Rowena’s salon. I think it was used as a schoolroom at one time. She tore out the walls, creatin’ a large open area.”

Anything to escape the attic and the feeling that she was underwater again. Would those memories when she was five stay with her forever? “I-I should like to see it.” She rushed down the stairs, gasping for a bracing breath. Slowly, her heart resumed a more normal rhythm, and the sense of dizziness dissipated. She gazed about the salon. It took up a large portion of the second floor. Beautifully furnished. The decor could not be faulted. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the garden to the back of the house. There was an ornate fireplace in the only corner.

“It’s lovely,” Maeve breathed, attempting to calm herself. The courtesan had outdone herself in this space. Maeve guessed it had been more than one room before its remodel. What need would an exclusive courtesan have of a schoolroom after all?

Now that she was out of that stifling attic, she found her pulse slowly returning to normal. A second later, large hands landed on her shoulders. He turned her to face him. The light from the windows behind him kept her from being able to read his expression.

“You’re pale. What is it?” he asked her softly.

Maeve shook her head.

Harlowe turned to Agnes. “You may be excused, Agnes.”

Agnes’s footsteps faded away, and Maeve took advantage of the moment to pull herself together, even if she couldn’t quell her fluttering stomach. She stepped away, moving to the window and glancing out at the garden below. She would need a gardener. “What a nice room, my lord.”

“What is all this ‘my lord’ nonsense?” he groused. His gaze narrowed on her. “I think you are doing your best to provoke me.”

Maeve studied the area with a critical eye, though her abdomen dipped with an onslaught of uninvited butterflies. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You’ve garnered that cavalier air to perfection, haven’t you?”

She felt Brandon’s stare through to her soul. If she dared to look at him, she’d be lost. “I have no notion of what you’re talking about.”

The sudden silence grew thick with anticipation. Slowly, she chanced a peek over her shoulder—and was… lost.

He stalked over to her, grabbed her by the upper arms, and shook her. “God Almighty, if you aren’t the most irresistible—” he said on a huff, then covered her mouth with his. Her lips parted with her surprise, and he took full advantage. His tongue swept in her mouth in a shocking intimacy she’d never before experienced.

The act stunned her. She stiffened beneath him. Then, breathing in through her nose, she was instantly intoxicated by the strength of his hold, the molding of his lips on hers, and the utter scent of his masculinity. She was inundated by the heat of his tongue swirling about hers. She wound her arms about his neck and pulled him tighter to her, and he jerked her away from his body, somehow keeping her on her feet.

It was not a gentle motion. “Please tell me no.”

“For what?” she said on a breathless gasp.

 

Groaning, Harlowe kissed her again. He would never get enough of her. He tasted her spiciness, her curiosity. They dragged him into a mindless stupor. Her arms locked behind his neck, and her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him to her. She seemed to return his kiss with reckless abandon. He moved his hand over her breast and gently squeezed. Despite the perfection of her height, she was not overly endowed. She was slender, and just thinking of tasting their sweetness had him sucking at her tongue as if her nipple were already in his mouth. He jerked away from her, adrenaline surging, and in a swift motion, he swept Maeve off her feet and strode to one of the larger couches, lowering her to the cushions.

“Brandon?” she said on a breathless whisper.

He went down on one knee. He hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. He shook from the effort to remain calm. “Hush, darling. I must have you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Her guileless blue eyes of stared back as she swallowed with an audible gulp. Yet she never looked away from him. It was an interminable amount of time before the tip of her tongue dabbed at her lips and she nodded. He positioned himself over her, resting on his forearms. Her arms crept around his neck.

Harlowe was desperate to toss her pretty, striped skirts over her head, but it had been likely longer for her than him. Alymer had been dead for three years if memory served. He almost laughed at the thought of his memory being served. He couldn’t laugh now if his life depended upon it. He lowered his mouth to hers and reveled in its feel. How her lips mimicked his.

His entire body burned with need, a heat so intense it could melt glass. Her lips parted and his tongue dove in, seeking hers. Her fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him closer, creating an invisible binding from her to him. He relished it. He broke from her and trailed his mouth to her neck, down to the swell of her breast.

Brandon slid his hand down her waist and tugged at her skirts until he reached her stockinged calf. The farther up he moved, the more rapid her pants became. He moved his mouth up to hers once more and hovered there. He’d reached the bare skin of her thigh. “Spread your legs, my darling. Let me in.”

Slowly, she did as he asked.

He cupped her mound and his hand fairly singed with the fire emanating from her sex. She was wet, but he wanted her begging. He ran his thumb over the cleft, searching for the hidden jewel within. He touched it and caught her scream with his mouth as she exploded in his arms.

Refusing to relinquish his hard fought kiss, he fumbled with the placket on his trousers then shoved them over his hips. His erection was heavy and fierce. Painful and desperate for release. He drew up alongside her, fitted himself between her legs and worked himself inside. “You’re so tight, so exquisite, so—” Unable to help himself any longer, he surged to the hilt, breaking past an unexpected barrier.

Maeve’s gasp of pain stilled him as another memory came rushing back.

“Please, stop. You’re hurting me. No. No. Quit.”Corinne’s voice filled his head.

“I’m sorry, darling. I won’t hurt you ever again,” he growled. But he couldn’t pull away. The slightest move, and all would be lost.

“Get off. Get off.” She was screaming. “Don’t touch me.” Her tears were uncontrollable.

“Oh dear. W-we don’t quite fit, do w-we?” she stuttered on a panicked whisper.

“Maeve?”

She froze. “Brandon? Look at me.” Her voice sharpened. Her fists hit his shoulders. “Brandon!”

“Don’t… move,” he bit out, amazed at his stupidity. How could he not have realized? Alymer had been an old man.

She wriggled a little. “Yes. It’s, ah, better… now—”

“Stop—” But it was too late. He pumped, once, twice—and flew over the cliff. He lay there, his trousers barely down, stunned and panting.

She shoved at him, but he was unable to move. “Damn you, Brandon Radcliff. How dare you make love to someone else using my body?”

Harlowe planted his palms, one on each side of her, and lifted away. Angry tears glittered in her eyes.

“You should have told me.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me.” She shoved at his chest, knocking him to the floor in a tangled heap. He rolled to his back, yanked his pants up over his arse, and bent his arm over his eyes.

Her skirts rustled, and he felt her climb over him in her rush to escape.

He shot out an arm, and he grabbed her by the ankle before she could get away. “One minute, my love, we have a few things to discuss.” He jerked, and she stumbled back. He caught her before she hit the floor, using his body as a shield.

Her eyes flashed fire. “You thought I was Corinne, didn’t you?”

“You were a virgin.”

“Well, I’m not any longer, am I? Quit trying to distract me and answer my question. You thought I was Corinne.”

His body deflated with defeat. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to explain. On our wedding night, she screamed as if I were taking her against her will. She hated intimate relations. It never got better.”

The tension in Maeve seeped through to him, stilling her to an unnatural calm. “She thought you tookher against her will?”

A familiar bleakness saturated him. “I don’t remember touching her again.”

“You mean she became with child after… after one time?” Her voice shot up an octave on a squeak.

Amusement hit him for the first time in… forever. “It only takes once, my dear.”

She appeared truly puzzled by the phenomenon. “Is that possible?”

Harlowe took her face in his hands, his bleakness momentarily lifting, and smiled at her. “Actually, I couldn’t be happier about this new development.”

She struggled to sitting, smoothing her skirts down, flags of scarlet dotting her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He sat up, holding her on his lap. “You will,” he said. He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “Now tell me. Why were you a virgin?”

“What was I supposed to do? Go about spouting Alymer was… was…”

“Impotent?” he suggested.

“Yes.” Her voice vibrated against his chest as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even as she sat sprawled across his thighs in an undignified heap. The fight went out of her in a rush, and she lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes blinked in a rapid flutter with the slightest glistening. This was a woman who did not cry easily.

She bolted up, nearly kneeing him in the nether regions. “Oh my God. It just occurred to me—some of your memory has returned.”

“That’s what I adore about you. Your optimism.” He was sorely tempted to take her again, but he’d been too rough, and kissed her soundly instead. “Come. The one servant in this house is liable to return and explore our unusual thumping about. We have a wedding to plan.”

“Oh no, we don’t.”

“Damn it, Maeve.”

“Enough!”

She was wrong, but Harlowe let it go for now.