The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler

Thirty-Three

G

uilt warred with the thrill of having Nathaniel with Maeve. She’d missed him horribly. He was an adorable, sweet natured child, and Penny and Mary loved having him about. Having Nathan underfoot certainly helped in keeping Penny from fretting so much over her missing sister.

Lorelei must be heartsick at not having Nathan in her house. That was the source of Maeve’s guilt.

Since the wedding, Maeve and Brandon had been working in the less formal parlor on Alymer’s scripts. The snow had finally come to a stop, and the entire household was suffering from confinement. If the sun was out tomorrow, Maeve would take the children to the park. Right now, however, as undignified as it was, she sat on the floor in front of the fire with a sleepy Nathan in her lap. His back rested against her stomach and her arms wrapped his small body. She leaned down and put her lips atop his light-blond hair and breathed in the sweet smell of him. He jerked his head up and met her eyes with his thumb tucked securely in his mouth. “You’re tired, my darling, aren’t you?”

His thumb plopped out and he twisted around, holding up his arms.

Maeve took him in her arms, and his legs hugged her waist. He laid his head on her shoulder, taking up his thumb again.

“Shall I whisk him up to bed, milady?” Molly spoke from the corner where she’d been quietly reading.

Maeve looked down at his half closed eyes. “Let’s give him a few more minutes, Molly.”

“Yes, milady.”

Maeve glanced over at Harlowe. His pencil flew over the sketch pad in his lap. She turned her attention to the fire and watched the flames cackle and hiss. She rocked Nathan in small motions, barely moving. “The workmen are scheduled to begin enclosing the open salon area on the third floor in a few days,” she said. The floor-to-ceiling windows were perfect for Harlowe to work with so much natural light.

“Why enclose it at all?”

Maeve turned and met Molly’s grin with her own, complete understanding passing between the two. “Because of curious toddlers. We must be able to lock the door. I’ll admit I’m the last to understand the chemicals that go into paint, but I did attend art classes at Miss Greenley’s Comportment School for Young Girls. The smell of chemicals were horrendous.”

His head lifted and the heat in his gaze turned her insides to absolute mush. She was nothing but an idiotic female. She might as well have just been turned out from Miss Greenley’s school.

“Order a couch for the room as well.”

“What on earth for?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, just pierced her with that look in his eye that set her entire body aflame. Maeve stole a glance at Molly. Her head was down, and she clearly trying to suppress a smile.

She glanced down. Nathan’s eyes had drifted closed. “Molly, I believe Nathan is indeed ready for bed,” she said.

“Yes, milady.”

Maeve touched her lips to the baby’s forehead and handed him up.

Harlowe set his pad aside. “Why do you sit on the floor?” He rose and sauntered over to Maeve and held out his hand.

Maeve didn’t want him laying a finger on her. She lost all common sense when he came within smelling distance, let alone touching. They were in the parlor where anyone could walk in on them, but there was no polite way to refuse his assistance, and after a short hesitation, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Nathan is curious about the fire. By sitting nearby, he can indulge his curiosity, and I can keep him safe.”

He dipped his head and kissed her. The same dizzying sensation she’d felt the first time he’d whipped her beneath him that day a few weeks back swept over her. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the fiery desire that surged through her at his firm, confident hold. It was too disconcerting. His lips left a blazing trail to the column of her neck, and he bit down lightly, startling a squeal out of her.

“Shush.” His breath seared her skin. He lowered her gown and kissed the top of her shoulder. He pushed it farther down, releasing her breast, and took a pebbled peak in his mouth.

“Brandon?”

He backed them to the chair he’d vacated. He sat, his mouth leaving her breast. The cool air hit her damp, hard nipple. He brought her forward. Tugging her dress up, he urged her left knee up on one side of him, then the right on his other side. With deft fingers, her dress was loosened, and he had it over her head before she could blink. Her corset was short work for all his blasted worldly practice.

His mouth covered her breast once again, then moved quickly to the other. “Delicious.”

One hand slid to her inner thigh, and she shuddered. She watched with helpless desire as he fumbled with his placket and pulled himself free. She sank down slowly on the velvet steel of his erection, moaning with mounting anticipation. His hands gripped her hips, and his breath hitched. His reaction was its own aphrodisiac as her mindless body took over, moving up and back down, teasing him with what little arsenal she had.

His lips touched her chest between her breasts. Such a light brush should not have sent a volcanic rush of fire through her blood, yet it did.

She closed her eyes. “I can see the stars.”

“Reach for them, darling. Let go and fly,” he whispered against her.

She clenched around him, and he lost control, jerking her down then up until the stars exploded in a kaleidoscope of fireworks worthy of Vauxhall. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly through the last of the convulsions.

“God, you are going to kill me,” he said. She clung to him until his body’s quivering subsided.

After a bit, his breath evened out. “Let’s get out of the city. Go to Spixworth. I need to assess the house. That is Nathan’s entailment after all.”

Maeve was not about to leave the city until she’d exhausted all avenues of locating Melinda for Penny. “I can’t leave London. Not until we find Melinda.”

“Dammit, Maeve.” But his voice was one of resignation, not anger.

Someone tapped at the door.

“Blast!” Panic roared through her. She was destined to die of humiliation.

A growl of a laugh erupted from Brandon. Still holding her, he stood and set Maeve on her trembling legs. He turned her around and set her corset to rights. The brush against her breasts might have been intentional, and she shivered with insatiable need. He swooped her dress from the floor and tossed it over her head.

Good heavens, she still had her slippers on. She felt as if her skin would peel away.

Brandon went to the door and glanced over his shoulder to her.

Maeve dropped into the chair, hiding behind one of the wings.

It was Rory. Maeve couldn’t make out what he was saying, but his usual gruffness was tinged with tension.

“Wait for me at the stable. I’ll be fifteen minutes.” The door shut.

Maeve couldn’t move. A band manacled her chest. He left? Hurt pounded through her.

She wouldn’t rail at him. She was not some clingy green girl. She heaved in a deep breath to steady her—not nerves—she was not prone to nerves—anger. To tamp her anger. How dare he take her in a chair, then desert her.

 

Rory had the horses saddled and ready by the time Harlowe met him at the stables. “What do we know of the child?”

“Not much.” Harlowe swung his leg over and kicked the beast lightly in the flanks. “Penny is only five. She doesn’t even know how old her sister is. Just that she’s taller than herself. And that her name is Melinda. She calls her Mellie. Oh, and her hair is lighter than Penny’s.”

“I been scoutin’ the area ’round Trotter’s. Ain’t seen no girls hangin’ about. But the boys, I seen. I think they might be willin’ to help. Coin talks.”

“I’m prepared.”

The ride to Soho Square took less than ten minutes under the crisp, clear night. Harlowe didn’t hold out much hope, yet welcomed the respite from being closeted in the house of late. Dragging himself away from his new bride had taken every ounce of fortitude he possessed. He had high hopes for his unexpected marriage, and now he could sleep at night knowing they were under the same roof. Even if Penny did manage to have him relegated to his own chamber most evenings.

“There.” Rory’s rasp brought Harlowe out of his musings to his surroundings.

“Stay the course,” Harlowe said softly. “We don’t wish to frighten them away. You do the talking,” he added. “Being a toff and all, I might scare them off.”

A quick smile along with Rory’s nod met Harlowe as they slowed their horses.

“Ho, there, boys,” Rory’s voice lifted over the cold night air.

Harlowe counted four, but there were likely another couple hiding about.

“We’re looking for a gel,” Rory said.

“Wot’s it worth to ye, guv?”

“Depends on wot ye can give us. Wot’s yer name, boy?”

Harlowe was stunned at Rory’s ability to modulate his dialect to match the tallest boy of the group who acted as their spokesperson.

“Me name’s Benny.” He chewed on a piece of straw then spat it out on the ground. “We seen a girl ’angin’ about. I ask ye again, wot’s it to ye?”

“Her sister’s a missin’ ’er,” Rory said.

“’Ow do we know ye ain’t workin’ for Jervis?”

The tension-filled air grew more fraught.

“Jervis? That basterd ain’t dead yet?” Rory groused.

“Man has friends in ’igh places,” Benny said.

Harlowe started, and his horse reacted. He reined in his mount. The shadowy images in his head from a few weeks before edged in. Three, maybe four people, but he couldn’t make them out. Who were they? Where were they?

“That so, Benny? Wot about the gel,” Rory said.

“There be lots o’ gels, guv. Gels can be bought for two, three a ha’penny.”

And wasn’t that a disgusting truth. Harlowe clenched his fingers around the ribbons. His horse danced again, reminding him to loosen his grip.

“We think this gel is young. ’Er sister’s young. Their ma died givin’ birth. Any ’elp be worth yer while. ’Er name’s Mellie, the sister said.”

One of the smaller boys stepped forward. “Wot’s the sister’s name?”

Harlowe shifted on his horse, his senses sharply alerted. “Penny,” he said, squinting into the dark.

The boy moved into sight and pulled off his cap. “I be Mellie. Ye gots me sister?”

Harlowe’s heart pounded, but he smiled at the girl. “She has a new dress and has requested one for you,” he said softly.

There was a lengthening pause before she said, “I’ll go. But ye best not be lyin’ to me.”

Harlowe turned his attention back to the tallest boy. “You the leader of this horde of rabble, Benny?”

“Aye, wot’s it to ye?”

Harlowe tugged out a handful of coins and handed them over. “Feed your flock, Benny. I thank you for your help.” He held out his hand. “Come on up, Mellie.”

When she hesitated, Benny shoved her in the shoulder. “Go on, Mellie. Don’ be a fool, chit. This be yer shot out o’ hell.”

Mellie’s hand was tiny in his massive paw. She weighed but a feather, and she reeked of the worst sediments of the Thames. Nothing hot water and soap wouldn’t cure, he told himself, trying unsuccessfully not to inhale.

“Let’s go home, Mellie. You’ve a new mother awaiting you.”

The gang of children melded back into the night without a sound.

Harlowe and Rory turned their horses towards Cavendish Square.

Silence reigned for a time.

“Is this new mum yer ladywife?”

“Yes.”

“So, that makes ye me new papa?”

Harlowe considered her words carefully, a little stunned by them. “Why, yes, I suppose it would.”

“I ain’t ne’er had no papa b’fore.”

“It won’t be easy,” he assured her. “I shall be quite stern. Regular schooling, bed at a decent hour, and the like.”

“Schooling?” Shocked awe met his ears. “Ye mean likes readin’ and such.”

He grinned, knowing she couldn’t see. “Yes, indeed.” He opened his mouth to tell Rory they would go in through the kitchens but changed his mind. “Lead us to the front entrance, Rory.”

Rory shot him a questioning glance Harlowe ignored. “Aye, milord.”

“Blimey,” came her whispered surprise. “The front?”

“Certainly, no child of mine will be regulated through the servants’ entrance.” He slid off his horse and reached for her. With his arm around her waist, he said, “After a good clean bath you can see Penny—”

She began kicking, fervently, like a madwoman. “Put me down. I ain’t takin’ no bath. That’s dangrous!”