The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler
Thirty-Nine
H
arlowe let himself in at Cavendish Square. He’d been gone for two days, recounting everything he could remember to the prime minister with Dorset at his side.
“Brandon?” Maeve stood at the top of the stairs.
He tossed his greatcoat on the entryway table, knocking the silver salvor askew and dashed all the way to the top. He swept his wife in his arms and kissed her long and deep. In an instant he was intoxicated by the priceless elixir known as Maeve Radcliff, Lady Harlowe. His wife.
“Tell me everything,” she said in a breathless rush.
“First things first,” he rasped out, taking her mouth once more.
He knew at once he’d never get enough of her. He swept her off her feet and took her to his chamber. Less likelihood of being interrupted. Just to be safe, he turned the lock and carried her to the bed. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”
“Because I might run into some servant I don’t know,” she returned. “I’ve missed you.”
“Stop talking.” He had no patience for her dress. “How attached are you to this frock?”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“Do we still have a stack of banknotes in the safe?”
“Of course.”
“Then you can buy another.” He ripped it open from the bodice down. He fought with the corset, and in the end, it turned out to be as useless as her dress. The chemise floated across the room like a cloud. He took one nipple in his mouth and groaned. He worked his way down her belly to the apex of her thighs and breathed in a drug more powerful than laudanum. This was the addiction he craved. One he’d never be cured of. Grasping her legs to hold her in place, he licked, and suckled, and drove his tongue deep until she exploded in a keeling scream that was sure to send the household running. He tore the placket of his trousers open and slid into her fiery wet heat.
“I love you, Maeve. I’m sorry I trapped you into marrying me. But I didn’t dare give Dorset the slightest edge. The man is tenacious, and you belong to me.”
“You forget the most important argument, my love. I had the deciding vote. I was never going to choose Dorset over you. I realized long ago that you belonged to me as well.” She rolled on top of him; feathered kisses over his neck and chest. “Now, tell me everything.”
“It was Griston who hit me over the head. He likely thought he’d killed me, but Holks found me in a ditch beside the road and brought me to his home in Goldhanger.” He ran his fingers through her brilliant red locks, sending pins flying. “But he is in bedlam and the man is so far gone, he might as well be dead.”
“What of Shufflebottom?”
“He’s a marquis. He’s laid all blame at Chancé’s feet. I’m sorry, darling. Jervis admitted to his father finding her, as he’d intimated. His father kept her for himself.”
“But she was only a child,” she whispered.
“Yes. She was a prisoner in their home until the old man cocked up his toes. She was smart though. With Jervis’s help, she was able to insinuate herself deeply within the network. Jervis will be transported, of course.”
“It appears the widow learned of the Athenaeum Order and manipulated Shufflebottom into something astronomically profitable and irresistible. The man will likely skate. It’s detestable.”
“What of Welton?”
“He’ll have a headache. I can certainly empathize with him.”
She was quiet for a time, then said, “Caroline was only nine and twenty.”
“Your sister was quite resourceful. It’s a shame she hadn’t been able to use her brains for something more—” he groaned. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
“No. You are quite correct. As children, our mother indulged her horribly. In some ways, those skills served her well in how Caroline had been able to survive what her life had become. But in others—well, there is nothing more to be said. She is gone now.”
“Will you tell your mother?”
“What good would it do? No. I shall do as Caroline asked and her identity shall be buried with her.” Maeve sat up slowly. “With all the excitement behind us, I thought perhaps my worries would subside. But still, every day I feel ill thinking of how Mr. Jervis broke Penny’s arm. And how he was after the other children—what will happen to the other children?”
“Lord Lexum and his wife Felicity, Oxford’s daughter, were contacted. She has taken up the cause for Founding and Orphan’s Charity Home.”
“Excellent.”
“I have some news for you, my darling.”
She turned a beatific smile on him. One full of love and trust that twisted his heart in his chest. “Yes?”
“Er, did you know my sister was with child?”
“No! That’s wonderful news!”
“Yes. And I suspect that you likely are as well.”
“Of course, I’m not—” She stopped, looked at him, then down to her stomach and back up. A slow grin curved her luscious lips. “Oh. Oh, my.”
“I think it’s time we moved the household to the country for a time,” he said.
