Loving Lord Ash

Books by Sally MacKenzie

THE NAKED DUKE
THE NAKED MARQUIS
THE NAKED EARL
THE NAKED GENTLEMAN
“The Naked Laird”
THE NAKED BARON
THE NAKED VISCOUNT
“The Naked Prince”
THE NAKED KING
“The Duchess of Love”
BEDDING LORD NED
SURPRISING LORD JACK
LOVING LORD ASH

Published by Zebra Books

Loving Lord Ash

S
ALLY
M
AC
K
ENZIE

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Books by Sally MacKenzie
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Author’s Note
SURPRISING LORD JACK.
About the Author
BEDDING LORD NED
SURPRISING LORD JACK
THE NAKED LAIRD
THE NAKED DUKE
THE NAKED MARQUIS
THE NAKED EARL
THE NAKED GENTLEMAN
THE NAKED BARON
THE NAKED VISCOUNT
THE NAKED KING
Copyright Page

For my boys and my daughters-in-law,
For grandparents everywhere,
and
For Kevin, as always.

Chapter One

Never jump to conclusions.

—Venus’s Love Notes

The March wind stung his face, but the Marquis of Ashton, heir to the Duke of Greycliffe, still paused when he rounded the curve in the drive that led to Blackweith Manor.

Zeus, he loved this house, especially with the late afternoon sun limning its classical facade. It was so orderly and controlled. No one could look at it and not feel calm—

Oh, God.

The image of Jess’s milky white thighs—and Percy’s naked arse between them—shoved to the front of his thoughts. Again. He’d been battling the memory every minute of every hour on this blasted journey.

He shifted on his horse, making the animal toss its head. The jangling of its bridle sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet.

There was nothing calm or controlled about the place. It was a wasp’s nest—smooth and beautiful on the outside, but a mass of stinging, painful chaos on the inside. He should go back to Greycliffe Castle. A wise man didn’t poke a wasp’s nest. He’d left this problem alone for eight years; why couldn’t he leave it for another eight?

His fingers tightened on the reins. Because he needed an heir, of course. He’d just turned thirty; Jess was twenty-eight. It was past time to set up his nursery. Running back to the castle would not give him a son to carry on the title.

He nudged his horse forward. Hell, he couldn’t run back even if he wanted to. He’d never had such a cursed journey. What with the snow and the mud and the washed-out bridges—not to mention his horse coming up lame, forcing him to hire this slug he was currently riding—a trip that should have taken two days had stretched to over a month. Even the few interesting buildings he’d seen along the way hadn’t made up for the slow pace and maddening detours.

Well, he was here now. Surely he and Jess could come to some agreement. He was only asking for a couple years of her life. Once she gave him his heir and his spare, she could go back to doing as she pleased. It was a very common arrangement among the ton.

A cloud drifted in front of the sun, bringing a chill to the air, turning the manor’s warm stone dark and forbidding. His stomach tightened with each step the bloody horse took up the drive.

His brother Jack had said the London idiots were taking bets on what he would do about his union with Jess. It was a particularly delightful situation for the gossips because Mama was the Duchess of Love, the ton’s premier matchmaker and the author of
Venus’s Love Notes,
mortifying leaflets of marital advice. How ironic that her oldest son had made such a damnable muddle of his marriage.

Yet everyone but his mother knew love didn’t last....

Love.
He scowled at his horse’s ears. If he didn’t feel this wretched, stupid love for Jess, everything would be much simpler. He wouldn’t have married her in the first place, or he would have had a calm discussion with her about her duty as soon as they’d left the church. But he
did
love her. He loved her—and he hated her, too.

He was such a bloody fool. He had no one to blame for this mess but himself.

He stopped at the front of the manor and waited. When no one came to take his horse, he dismounted.

The horse stomped its front hoof and gave him a nasty look.

“Don’t complain. I’ll grant you this is irregular, but I’m sure someone will come out and take you to the stables shortly. It’s not as if you exerted yourself. A slower hack would be hard to find in all of England.”

The animal snorted and tossed its head, but it couldn’t dispute the truth of the matter.

Ash shifted his shoulders, trying to ease the kinks out of his back. God, every one of his muscles ached. If only Inigo hadn’t pulled up lame—

No, it was just as well. If he was going to bring Jess back to the castle, he’d have to take a carriage, and this way he wouldn’t be tempted to ride instead of sitting inside with her. He didn’t want to spend one more moment astride this bag of bones.

The horse found a few blades of grass to nibble, so Ash was confident the animal would stay put for the time being. He climbed the stairs to bang on the front door.

Nothing happened.

He scowled. The servants either did not expect visitors or the butler was deaf. Well, he would have a word with Walker, the estate manager, after he spoke to Jess. If he remembered correctly, he was paying for a full staff. He expected anyone working for him to be competent.

He tried the latch; the door opened easily. Good God! This was the country, but even so, leaving the door unlocked and unattended was not wise. Perhaps he’d have to make a list of things to discuss with Walker.

Sadly, this was what happened when one didn’t visit one’s estate regularly. He stepped over the threshold.

“Hallo! Is anyone here?”

He heard an odd sort of yelp and some scuffling, and then a large man hurried out from the back of the house, tucking in his shirttail and fastening his fall as he came.

He stopped when he saw Ash, his hands still on his buttons. A slow grin spread across his face. “We-ell, who do we have here?” His eyes swept Ash from his boots to his head and back.

Was the fellow drunk? “Ashton. I’ve come to see my wife.”

“W-what?” The man’s jaw dropped.

He must be a half-wit. It would be just like Jess to insist Walker take on a man who wasn’t employable elsewhere. She might lift her skirt for anything in breeches, but she did sincerely care about the less fortunate. Perhaps it was the artist in her; she saw people who were invisible to most everyone else. But she also gave little thought to her own safety. She’d very likely never considered how she’d be at this fellow’s mercy if he became violent.

Once they came to an agreement about their marriage, he would have to discuss that with her. Perhaps the man could be moved to the fields. At least then he wouldn’t have the run of the house.

“I’m Lord Ashton.” Ash spoke slowly and distinctly so the fellow could comprehend. “I’m here to see Lady Ashton. Your mistress.”

The man’s brows snapped down, and he snorted. “And I’m Prinny himself. You’ll have to try harder than that to fool me, my fine fellow. Anyone will tell you Lord Ashton never comes to Blackweith Manor.” The butler, or whatever he was, stepped forward to grab the door. “Now turn yourself around and be off, or I’ll help you on your way with my boot.”

“I am not going anywhere.” Ash stood his ground and glared. Good God. He’d never expected to have to prove his identity.

“Who is it, Charlie?” Another man, also fiddling with his fall, came up behind the first.

Charlie sniffed. “Some scoundrel who says he’s Lord Ashton, Ralph.” He glanced out the door at the broken-down nag and curled his lip. “I don’t know what your game is, sirrah, but you won’t cozen Charlie Lundquist.”

Ash clenched his fists, struggling to keep a hold on his temper. This was ridiculous. “I don’t
say
I’m Lord Ashton, I
am
the marquis, and if you don’t move aside at once, Charlie Lundquist, you will find yourself on your arse next to that poor hack.”

Charlie was not easily cowed. “Brave words. Now let’s see you try—”

“Charlie.” Ralph had been studying Ash. Now his eyes widened, and he grabbed Charlie’s arm.

“Let go.” Charlie tried to shake him off, but Ralph hung on.

“Charlie,” he hissed, “he does look bloody like the painting in the library.”

Charlie paused and examined Ash more closely. “I . . .”

“And look at his clothes. They’re muddy, but they’re quality.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “But the marquis never visits.”

“He has now,” Ash said. “And I will tell you that you and Mr. Walker will be looking for new positions if this is how matters are handled at Blackweith Manor.” He took a savage sort of satisfaction when Lundquist paled at his use of the estate manager’s name. “Now take me to my wife.”

“Ahh.” Charlie looked at Ralph, and then they both looked up the stairs. They turned back with identical expressions of horror.

“Please forgive me, milord,” Charlie said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopping his brow. “If you will just come along to the parlor, you can be comfortable while Ralph tells Lady Ashton you’re here.”

Any fool could see they were trying to hide something from him. “I do not wish to go to the parlor; I wish to see my wife.”

“Yes, of course, milord. It’s just that Lady Ashton is a little busy at the moment.” Charlie nudged Ralph toward the staircase. “I’m sure—”

Bloody hell!
He could guess what Jess was busy with. He lunged forward and grabbed Ralph’s arm before the man could escape. “On second thought, I shall announce myself. You may attend to my horse.”

Ralph stared at Ash’s hand as if it belonged to Death.

“But, milord,” Charlie sputtered, “please. You will truly be much more comfortable in the parlor while Ralph fetches Lady Ashton.” He smiled nervously. “I’ll bring you a nice bottle of brandy.”