A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (8 page)

“WHAT IN
BLOODY HELL
happened to you?” Ian Markham, Duke of Edgeware, asked upon entering Graelem’s bedchamber in response to his urgent missive and finding him seated beside the open window with his broken leg elevated, pillowed back propped against a sturdy chair, and crutches at his side. “So this is why you couldn’t meet me at White’s the other day.”

Graelem set aside the instructions he had been writing to his estate manager regarding the Moray farmlands and nodded. “An unexpected complication, Your Grace. I was certain you’d heard all about it by now.”

Ian grinned. “In truth, it is all the
ton
is talking about. Your grandmother told her friend Lady Phoebe Withnall, who ran straight to me with the news and then ran off to tell the rest of England. The odds makers are having a deuced hard time keeping up with the wagers.”

“Damnation,” Graelem muttered, his humor turning as dark as the thunderclouds gathering overhead. The air was thick with moisture and the wind was kicking up, a reliable indicator of heavy rains on the way. His leg was also feeling the changes, for the area around the broken bones had swelled so uncomfortably he was tempted to take the entire vial of laudanum and gulp it down to ease the pain.

He hadn’t taken any since that first day and there would be none for him today. It was a vile substance that served no purpose but to dull one’s senses while loosening one’s inhibitions.

“The bets are running in her favor. Odds are that she will never marry you.”

“With all due respect, stuff it, Your Grace.” He had important matters to discuss with Ian and pressing Moray affairs to attend to immediately afterward, so his head had to remain clear of all the distracting gossip and drivel. Especially since he was the subject of all that gossip and drivel. The duke was used to this nonsense. He wasn’t.

Ian paused at his side and stared down at him. “I refused to believe it at first, it sounded too ridiculous. The girl tramples you with her horse and you propose marriage? Were you hit in the head by the beast’s hooves?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Graelem grumbled, feeling at a distinct disadvantage and expecting to be mercilessly teased about his present state, for one did not meet with a duke in one’s nightshirt and dressing gown with one’s leg wrapped and raised and purple toes sticking out from that wrapping without a single comment.

Surprisingly, Ian appeared too willing to go easy on him. “Lady Withnall had the effrontery to suggest that one of the Farthingale sisters might be perfect for me should I ever decide to settle down and find myself a wife. I found the notion terrifying as well as preposterous.”

Graelem laughed. “You? Terrified of a slip of a girl? I’d love to see the day that happens. Although those sisters aren’t your usual sort. You might find one you like enough to marry.”

“Please,” Ian said with a mock shudder and a wicked arch of his eyebrow. “I’ve just had breakfast and you’re unsettling my stomach. Why have you summoned me?”

Graelem motioned to one of the two empty chairs beside him. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you. I’ve asked Julian Emory to join us as well since he’s married to one of the Farthingale sisters.”

Ian nodded. “Rose, the eldest. He did well for himself. The girl has brains as well as beauty. But why is my presence required, and how is it in any way connected to that family?”

“Harrison Farthingale was injured and possibly captured while battling Napoleon’s army in France. His brothers are frantic with worry. Indeed, all the Farthingales are. You’re needed to—”

He broke off as Julian strode in.

“I’ve just come from Harrison’s regimental headquarters and the news is very bad.” Julian hastily acknowledged Ian. “Your Grace, glad you’re here.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair as he continued. “It’s almost certain Rose’s uncle is dead, but his body hasn’t been recovered yet. The battle was a bloody massacre of our English forces. The dead have yet to be counted, and there are so many injured…” He paused as rage and frustration overwhelmed him.

“I know,” Ian said with a bitterness that surprised Graelem, for the duke rarely showed his feelings. But Ian was clenching and unclenching his fists as though preparing to pound someone to dust, and his eyes were ablaze with anger. “Gabriel sent his report weeks ago warning about the French troop strength at Boulogne. He proposed a damned brilliant alternative to General Kellington’s battle plan, which wasn’t a plan at all, but a death march. That horse’s arse! He ignored the advice.”

Ian, his expression as stormy as the rain now beginning to fall with a vengeance, rose from his chair and began to pace. “I told Prinny that if he didn’t remove Kellington immediately, I’d do it for him. And I’ll do a hell of a lot worse to him than a mere broken leg. He’s destroyed too many lives because of his stupidity.”

Graelem had no doubt that Ian would follow through on his threat, and also had no doubt that Prinny took his words seriously. He expected that within the week, Kellington would be quietly dismissed or
promoted
to some useless ministry where his stupidity could do little damage.

Of course, too late to save the precious lives lost at Boulogne.

Ian’s eyes suddenly rounded in understanding. “You want me to find Harrison Farthingale when I slip into France. I’m due to leave tomorrow.”

Julian nodded. “We know it’s asking much of you. I volunteered to go, but the others,” he said with a nod in Graelem’s direction, referring not only to him but to all the members in the English spy ring secretly commissioned by Prinny, “refused to permit me the assignment.”

“I should hope not.” There was a determined glint in Ian’s eyes. “You’re married and your wife is with child. You know our rules. No grieving widows and no fatherless children left behind. You’re still an important part of this organization.”

Julian scowled. “But relegated to a clerk’s position.”

“We need operatives within England as well. Your work remains vital, just not as physically dangerous as the missions in France.” Graelem winced as he accidentally moved his leg. “Bollocks! How do you think I feel? I’m the one who should be sailing across the channel. The responsibility should have been mine.”

“Yours?” Both men said at once and stared at him in surprise.

“He’s Laurel’s uncle, and after what I’ve done to the girl—”

“Offering to marry her?” Ian shook his head. “Isn’t it what every debutante desires?”

“I’ve
tricked
her into marrying me. There’s a difference. She wasn’t given a choice. I’m forcing her to the altar because of that damned contingency in my inheritance.”

Julian nodded. “Rose is quite up in arms about it. I’m doing all I can to keep her from barging in here and doing away with you in the same way we’re all contemplating doing away with Kellington.”

Ian coughed. “These Farthingales sound quite bloodthirsty. I’ll do my best to avoid them. They seem more dangerous than Boney.”

“They are,” Julian agreed, but his tone gentled. “However, I have no complaints. I love Rose.”

Ian turned toward Graelem in expectation.

What did they expect him to say? That he loved Laurel? “I have no complaints either. But ours is a business arrangement.”

Ian sighed. “Another deluded bachelor. I had better warn Gabriel about the Farthingale sisters when I meet him in France. Who’s next to be set loose upon society?”

“Daisy,” Julian said.

“Right, I’ll warn him to keep away from her.” He turned to Graelem once more. “I’ll do what I can to locate Harrison Farthingale and find out about his condition. England can’t afford to lose brave men like him. I sincerely hope I can deliver good news.”

Graelem nodded.

But none of them smiled, for they’d all experienced war and knew its harsh reality.

Harrison Farthingale was not coming home.

* * *

“Come in,” Graelem said when Laurel appeared three days later. Her face was pale, and she was nibbling her lip as though concerned about what he might do to her after the way they’d parted company on her last visit. Her hair was drawn back in a stylishly intricate braided bun, but a few golden curls remained loose to frame her heart-shaped face. Her gown was a soft, sea foam green that subtly enhanced the greenish-blue hue of her eyes.

Unfortunately, her eyes were rimmed in red from the tears she had obviously shed these past few days as her family continued to worry over the fate of Harrison Farthingale. There had been no news and that was probably the hardest to endure.

She remained in his doorway, reluctant to step in.

He grabbed his crutches and hobbled over to her side before she lost her composure and fled. He was dressed now, finally able to wear proper clothes, although his leg was still tightly bound to hold the broken bones in place and he couldn’t put pressure on it yet.

His attire was simple, never to be mistaken for fashionable. He wore buff breeches and a plain shirt of white lawn. No finely woven jacket. No silk vest or perfectly looped cravat. No fancy leather boots on his feet yet, just a slipper on his good foot and bandages on his bad one.

But he was dressed and that was a step in the right direction. He arched an eyebrow and grinned in response to her questioning gaze. “I’ve had the ewer restocked with water.”

A small smile crept across her lips despite her efforts to hide all trace of enjoyment or desire to be in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t wearing your oilskin today or keeping an umbrella beside your bed,” she responded, finally surrendering to his teasing. A delightful rose blush stained her cheeks.

“I’m ever hopeful that I’ll get through this visit without a thorough soaking.” He glanced behind her. “No chaperone?”

Her eyes rounded in surprise and she turned to gaze behind her. “I… Aunt Hortensia is with me… at least, she was with me a moment ago. Oh, dear. Where has she gone off to?”

He stepped aside and invited her in. “She must have stopped a moment to greet Eloise. I’m sure she’ll be along soon.” Not that he wanted to share his time with anyone but Laurel. It wasn’t as though the Farthingale elders were diligent guardians. In truth, they were remarkably inattentive. Almost as inattentive as Eloise had been since the first few days.

It seemed he and Laurel bored everyone but each other.

His heart beat a little faster within his chest. She looked so beautiful. In truth, she grew lovelier with each passing day. He couldn’t blame his feelings on his blurred vision, for his vision had cleared shortly after he’d been kicked by Brutus. Nor could he blame them on his pain or the laudanum he’d refused to take for that pain.

He motioned to the chair he now kept beside his open window in order to enjoy the outdoors, for he had never been one to spend more time than necessary indoors. This enforced confinement was not in his nature. Were it not for Laurel’s visits and the sack of paperwork that arrived each morning requiring his immediate attention, he would have gone stark raving mad by now. “Won’t you have a seat?”

She gave him a curt nod as she glided past, sparing a peek at his bed as she did so. He thought it interesting, but made no remark about it, for she was an innocent and knew that remaining in that genteel state depended on her staying as far away from his bed as possible.

He was not so innocent and ached to have her hot and writhing beneath him, the mattress sinking under the weight of their contorted bodies.

He had to stop these wayward thoughts.

She gazed at his leg. “It appears to be on the mend.”

Her uncle had come by earlier to examine him and seemed pleased with the progress. “It’s healing nicely. George says I’ll be well enough to receive company downstairs within a few days.”

Her eyes widened and she smiled, obviously relieved that he was one step closer to returning to society. “Excellent,” she said with no effort to hide her feelings.

He supposed that he was relieved as well. Laurel’s presence in his bedchamber had been wreaking havoc on his composure. He was no saint and his thoughts about Laurel had been decidedly sinful almost from the moment they’d met.

He had no doubt that he would burn in hell for them.

She’d be much safer once he was able to manage the stairs and meet her each afternoon in Eloise’s parlor. Well, perhaps not all that safe.

But it would be easier for him to keep his distance from the girl. He had to not only maintain a physical distance, but keep her away from his heart.

He needed a convenient bride.

No complications.

No romance.

No broken hearts.

He needed a wife in name only. After the wedding, he’d return to Moray, for there was plenty of work to keep him busy, the first chore being to restore the manor house that Silas had allowed to fall into shocking disrepair.

After the wedding, Laurel could settle wherever she wished.

He would take her back to Moray with him if she asked, the choice hers.

Nor would he stint on her comfort if she preferred to remain in London with her family. He’d provide a generous allowance for her as well as purchase a townhouse for her in Mayfair.

He liked that idea, for he’d have a place to drop his bags on those rare visits to London. A large townhouse where they’d each have their own private quarters on opposite ends of a long hallway, but not so far away that they couldn’t… if they bumped into each other during the night and the urge…
Damn!
What was he thinking?

“What’s it to be today?” he asked, giving her the opportunity to select the topic of conversation. She had no book in her hands, thank goodness.

“I think we ought to talk about marriage. I need to know what you’ll expect from me. In turn, I’ll set out my list of requirements.” That pretty chin of hers shot up again, daring him to dismiss her suggestion.

Quite the opposite, he was cheering. Silently, of course. The mere fact that she’d mentioned the word “marriage” was a victory for him. A small one, to be sure. “I have no expectations of you. You’ll have as much freedom as you desire.”

She let out a huff. “No demands after the marriage? If my presence is so revolting to you, we can end this farce right now.”