Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (16 page)

“You’re so kind.” Amelia’s eyes filled once more.

“And you’re right.” Ian rose. “My wife is showing all the signs of being at the end of her rope right now. If you’ll forgive us, we’ll take advantage of your kind offer, Léonie. And we thank ye.”

“Least we can do, old chap.” Deverell punched Ian on the arm lightly. “You’re one of our extended family now, so go away, eat and rest. Tomorrow we will start again.”

“Does this mean I have to buy you all gifts at Christmas then?” Ian’s face expressed a great deal of apprehension.

“You could send us all a haggis…” Hannah looked hopeful. “I’ve never tried one, but always wanted to.”

“How about some of our best Scotch whisky instead?”

“That’ll do the trick quite nicely, thank you.” Julia grinned. “I’m quite partial to a drop now and again. When this babe arrives, I’ll be celebrating, you can be sure. It’s hard going without that lovely little sip of sunshine for so long.”

“There’s a lass that appreciates the finer things in life.” Ian helped Amelia to her feet and put an arm around her waist. “Bring her up to Kilmalochan, Lucius. Your children can play with the sheep.”

“Charles is quite good at that, as well.” Hannah’s face was innocence personified.

Once again, the Earl of Penvale blushed.

Amelia couldn’t wait to slip out of the clothes she’d worn for far too long. Ian played lady’s maid and helped her shed them, even going so far as to wash her gently with the warm water the servants had thoughtfully left for them.

Once wrapped into a warm robe—probably one of Léonie’s since it was short on Amelia—Ian tended to his own needs while Amelia picked at some of the food.

“Are ye not hungry, lass?” He put a plate together for himself.

She shook her head. “No, not really. I don’t seem to be able to stop shivering.”

“’T’is reaction, I’m thinking. After everything you’ve been through, you’re safe now. And your body’s finally letting go. Relaxing.”

“Safe?” She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know if that’s true. What if I have to be tried, Ian? What if I’m found guilty?”

She knew it was foolish, and that he would never let that happen. But it haunted her. The fear of jail, of bringing shame to Kilmalochan. All because of a stupid Scottish tradition.

“Hush now.” He put his plate aside. “Come, lass. Lie beside me and I’ll warm ye.”

Amelia found herself naked in bed, enfolded in her husband’s heat, almost before she knew it. And it felt so wonderful to be there at last.

“Ian,” she said, rubbing her chilled hands over his toasty skin. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?” He pulled her even closer.

“For creating such a mess. For involving you in my sordid affairs. For all the things I did in the past. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh hush now, darlin’. The past is over. We have a future and we’re going to enjoy the hell out of it—together. You and I can get past anything. And you know why?”

She shook her head.

“Because we love each other.” His hands slid over her in a soft caress.

“I…don’t deserve you…” Her hands did their own caressing.

“That’s true of course, but you’ve got me anyway.”

She chuckled, then gasped as he found her breasts and played with them in that gentle way she loved.

Her body responded, turning liquid inside, a fierce yearning billowing up within her heart as she moved to take his cock into her hands.

“Ah, Ian.” She stroked him, loving the way his breath hitched as she paid particular attention to a spot beneath the swelling head.

“Yes, Amelia,” he groaned.

She slithered down, her hands keeping a tight grip on him, finally positioning herself just where she wanted to be.

She took him into her mouth, knowing now how much he enjoyed the sensation of her lips enveloping his length with their warm wetness.

It was a pleasure for her to sense his delight; his muscles tensed and twitched, and his little sounds were music to her ears.

Sucking him, tasting him, licking that special spot and then detecting the salty tang of a tiny bead of his come—such joy. Being able to give that to a man who had given her more than her fair share of the same exquisite delights. He’d given her more than she deserved, she knew.

And she had made a promise that, if the Fates allowed, she’d give it all back to him and more.

He was moving now, shuddering a little, and she knew he was close. But then he pulled away from her lips and pulled her up, reversing their positions so that his mouth was now between her thighs.

His tongue drove her upward like a lightning bolt. He had learned so quickly what ignited her fires, how to lick and suck and when to move this way and that.

She adored the sensation of his lips as he found new and ingenious ways to arouse her and it took no time at all for her to approach her peak.

Again, and as always, Ian’s timing was beyond reproach.

He turned her onto her back, rose up between her legs and lifted her hips. “Now, my love. Now.”

He plunged deep, his entry stretching her and providing the last stroke necessary to drive her over the edge. She erupted around him, crying out, a hoarse sound of ultimate ecstasy.

He followed her and she became aware of the throbbing sensation deep inside as he released his seed within her slick silk. She spasmed around him, and he groaned, pushing against her as she wrapped her legs around him and held him tight.

She wished the moment could last, for this was the instant in time that took her away from everything but Ian.

However, it had to end and they tumbled together, sated and limp, relaxed and content to be in each other’s arms.

“I love you more each day, husband.” She mumbled the words into his shoulder.

“And I you, wife.”

His words were a distant whisper as sleep claimed her.

Ian smiled, knowing she was resting at last.

He wasn’t smiling when he awoke toward dawn, only to find his wife was ice cold and shivering so hard her teeth were chattering.

*~~*~~*

“I believe it’s nothing more than the ague, gentlemen.”

Dr. Pennyhaven pulled the covers back over Amelia’s chest and turned to Ian and Dev where they stood at the bottom of the bed. Dev had summoned the physician as soon as Ian had come downstairs seeking help.

“The ague? That’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Ian looked around, helpless, trying to grasp something in the words that would give him facts, not assumptions.

“Not at all. Not here in Deverell House, anyway.” He nodded at Dev. “She’ll get good care, a little of this tincture I’m going to leave for her, and good broth if she’s hungry.” He stood and put his instruments back in his bag. “For now, she needs rest. Keep her warm and calm, and give her plenty to drink if the fever heats up, which it may. Cool cloths won’t hurt, and I’ll be back this afternoon to check on her.”

“You’re a miracle, Doctor.” Dev shook his hand. “Thank you.”

“Those would be ma words too, sir, if I could shape ‘em. Ye’ve eased ma mind a little about ma wife, and for that I thank ye.” Ian’s slide into his Scottish burr betrayed his concern, he knew. But it was beyond him to control it at this moment.

“She’s strong. Maybe tired, from what you’ve told me, and yes it’s possible she picked this up on her travels south. It usually takes a day or so to show symptoms such as hers.”

“We’ll take good care of her.” Dev touched Ian’s shoulder. “Between us we’ll make sure she recovers fully.”

“I’m sure your good ladies will be managing everything. I’m going to give this to Mrs. Deverell.” He held up a small bottle. “This is willow bark extract and it will reduce her fever.”

“Thank you,” Ian eyed the vial. “Léonie will know how to administer it, will she?”

“Yes, because I’m going to tell her.” The doctor glanced at Dev. “You need to take your friend here downstairs and feed him. He’s going to need some friendly support over the next day or so, I’m thinking.”

With a smile and a nod, Dr. Pennyhaven left the room.

There was silence for a moment as Dev and Ian looked at Amelia, sleeping fitfully on the pillows.

“Right then.” Dev turned to his friend. “Doctor’s orders. We are going to go and break our fast, inform the ladies and then have a war council with Charles and Lucius.”

“But…”

“No, Ian. You will not help Amelia get better if you stay up here watching her all day. I understand the urge. If it were Léonie there, I’d need wild horses to drag me away from her side. Well, I’m the wild horse for you. Doing something useful to take care of this theft business will be of more use to your wife than haunting her sickroom.”

“But…”

“You know I’m right. Come on.”

Ian turned away at last. “I hate other people being more right than I am.”

“I am now seriously concerned.”

“Why?”

“I understood what you just said.”

The promised council of war took place over the remnants of a hearty breakfast.

As predicted, Julia, Hannah and Léonie had risen to the occasion and hurried off to check on Amelia’s condition. They had their wits about them, a desire to help, and were armed with the bottle of willow bark, which both Julia and Hannah swore was the best medicine for their patient right now.

Ian had to let them go, but it was hard to place his trust in them. Amelia was his wife and he’d die for her. But she hadn’t been a kind woman, and these three knew that better than most.

“They will take care of her, Ian.” Charles looked at him as the door shut on their wives. “They’ve forgiven her.”

“As have we,” added Lucius.

“I wish she could forgive herself,” he answered quietly. “Her past tortures her sometimes, you know.”

“I’m not surprised, but it will fade,” Lucius reassured. “Having a life with you, in Scotland, so far away from the pits of London Society—that’s all it will take, Ian. Trust me.”

“Sometimes, Lucius my friend, you really do make a lot of sense,” approved Charles. “Surprises the hell out of me, of course, but there it is.”

“Stop talking a bag of moonshine, and let’s get down to business.” Lucius grinned. “First on our agenda today is the mystery of the Springer family.”

“I believe that’s my cue to enter with a dramatic flourish?”

A woman stood at the door, posed theatrically with an arm on either side. Her hair was an improbable red mess of curls and her body swathed in shades of blue. Many varied shades of blue.

“Aunt Bertie. Good God. Did you travel all night?” Dev jumped up to embrace her.

“Not at all. I had just returned home early when your message arrived, so I had fresh horses put to and came here immediately.”

“You hunt in that, Aunt Bertie?” Charles came over and gave her a hug.

“Of course, dear. But my wardrobe depends on the game…” She gave him a wicked grin and waved to Ian and Lucius. “Hello darlings. God I love being with four handsome men in the morning. Gives me energy to face the rest of the day.” She flowed across the room trailing blue swishing things, and took a seat at the table, pushing aside the salt. “Now. Where are we?”

Ian shook his head. He’d experienced Aunt Bertie before, but had forgotten how vibrant a personality she was.

“We’re looking into the Springer family, ma’am. My wife has been charged with stealing a Cosway miniature of Lady Mabel. Falsely of course.”

“Of course. Never thought otherwise, lad.” Bertie nodded. “And none of you know the Springers? Your wife doesn’t?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh for God’s sake call me Aunt Bertie like everyone else. You make me feel seventy with all the ma’ams.”

Chastened, Ian smiled an apology. “As you wish, ma’-er-Aunt Bertie.”

“Good. Do you have an aunt? No? Well you do now. Back to the Springers.”

Ian, who had three aunts all in good health up in Scotland, said nothing, but returned to the subject at hand.

“Lady Mabel is deceased, we understand. The miniature was part of her estate.”

“And a good part of it too, I should think,” added Dev. “There’s a lot of money tied up in those tiny little works of art. Lovely, but I’m not sure I understand the appeal myself.”

“Right then.” Bertie spread her fingers on the table. “The Springers. Hmmm. I knew old Maurice Springer. Richer than Croesus, but a nasty bugger if ever there was one. In the truest sense of the word, I might add.”

Ian gulped and fought against a blush, saying nothing. The other men seemed to be having the same difficulties.

“Oh dear, children. I didn’t realize you were so missish. Well, never mind about Maurice. He did marry of course. One does, regardless of one’s preferences. “ She paused and thought for a moment. “That’s right. He married Winifred Peale. Lots of money to enlarge the Springer coffers and Winifred was on her third season. Not the most stunning of eligible misses, so I suppose it was a satisfactory match all around.”

“Children?” asked Lucius.

“Three sons, if my memory serves me. Oldest son was Lionel, and he’s the one who wed Mabel. Can’t remember the other two. I think one died young and another in battle, but where…well, I’m sorry. That escapes me.”

“I’m amazed you know so much, Aunt Bertie.” Ian was impressed. He’d questioned quite a few people in his time at Bow Street, but Aunt Bertie’s powers of recollection were outdoing them all.

She chuckled. “Well, darling, in my line of work back then, a good memory was a distinct advantage.”

Dev cleared his throat loudly. “Moving on, Bertie…”

“Right.” She winked at Dev. “Lionel and Mabel were the talk of the Season back then. Quite a few years ago now, and more than I’m going to talk about. Lovely thing she was. They had three daughters. Two made good marriages, but the third wasn’t so lucky. Her husband was killed in Europe a few years ago. One of those terrible confrontations with the Little Monster.”

“How sad.” Ian sympathized. He’d known more than a few widows who had gained that status at the hands of Napoleon’s army.

“I wish I could remember her name. Her married name. But at that point I wasn’t really paying much attention to the leading lights of the Season any more. That’s about all I can tell you, I’m afraid. But I will add one thing…” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial air surrounding her.  “I think those Springers were a bit of a daft lot.”

“What do you mean, Aunt Bertie?” Charles looked puzzled. “Define daft.”

“Well, you know the sort of thing. A lot of relatives that they didn’t talk about. A few that wound up like poor old George.”

“Er…”

“Oh good grief.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Old King George, bless him. Talking to trees. Mad as a hatter, they say.”

Ian blinked. “So to be clear here, you believe there may be a strain of insanity in that family?”

“Wouldn’t be at all surprised,” answered Bertie. “Probably no more than a lot of other highborn and inbred lines, but yes, I think the Springers may have had more than their fair share.”

Lucius looked around. “That, my friends, gives us plenty to go on, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say this lovely lady deserves three cheers.” Charles stood and led his friends in a round of huzzahs, which pleased Bertie enormously.

She was glowing, noted Ian, and gazing fondly at Dev. There was a lot of affection there, and Ian was pleased to see it.

He hoped that she’d like Amelia.

As soon as he thought of his wife, his anxiety returned. “All right then. We have avenues to pursue. And just as soon as I’ve popped upstairs and checked on Amelia, we can be off.” He looked around him. “I’m for Bow Street and their records offices.”

“I’m for the club,” said Lucius. “Best place to start for rumors and gossip. The manly versions, of course.”

“I want to talk to a couple of chaps I know at the Horse Guards.” That was Charles.

“Time for me to drop in on an old friend. The Earl of March offered me some help a little while ago. I didn’t need it then, but I might need it now.” Dev added his schedule to the verbal list.

“And
I
am going to take a nap, then go and visit your Amelia, Ian.” Bertie rose. “So be off with you, boys. Let’s start this campaign and ensure a victory for the righteous.”

On those stirring orders, the men scattered and the process of gathering information began.

*~~*~~*

Amelia opened her eyes with difficulty.

The room was dim, the fire the brightest thing in it, and she had a hard time focusing on anything in particular.

“Hallo dear.” A motherly voice addressed her, and a soft hand stroked her forehead. “Still feeling poorly?”

She examined that notion, then groaned as she attempted to nod.

“Sshh. That’s answer enough.” The hand continued the gentle soothing motion over her head and it felt nice.

“Who are you?” Amelia croaked the words, unable to bring the woman’s face into focus. A sharp thought hit her. “Am I dead?”

A little chuckle answered her words. “No, dear. You are not dead and I’m certainly no angel. You’re still at Deverell House. You have the ague, and that’s why you’re in bed.”

It took a few moments for that information to sink into Amelia’s mind. Then she examined her situation and discovered that her legs were too weak to move and her head ached badly if she tried to move it.

“All right.” It was all she could manage for the time being.

“I am Dev’s Aunt Bertie and I’m looking after you for a bit, while your friends have a little dinner.”

Amelia sighed. “I have no friends.” She coughed a little and moaned again. Truly every inch of her body seemed to hurt all the way to her bones.

“No? That surprises me. Someone as lovely as you should have dozens of friends.”

A thin but strong arm slid beneath her and Amelia found her head raised enough to sip the glass of water held to her lips.

“Tastes funny,” she murmured as she swallowed a couple of mouthfuls.

“It has medicine in it to help relieve your fever, dear.”

“Oh.” She lay back, waiting for her head to stop pounding so much. “Am I going to die?”

“Not if we can help it. And you must help too.”

“Why must I, Aunt…”

“Bertie.”

“Aunt Bertie. Why must I help?”

“Because you have a husband downstairs who is devoted to you and worried about you every minute.”

“He is?” Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. “Ian is worrying? I don’t want him to worry. Really I don’t. I’m not worth worrying over.”

She choked out a sob, but the pain in her head swamped the pain in her heart and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Hush, dear child.” The hand was back. “You are loved, Amelia. Very much. And you have friends.”

“I was a terrible person. I did awful things and shocked everyone.”

“Did you?” The woman sounded interested. “So did I as a matter of fact. And I have friends. So you should too.”

“I took lovers, Auntie. And sometimes I stole them away from other women.”

“Well that is rather reprehensible, but a woman can’t be hanged for attracting a foolish and weak man with a wandering eye.”

Amelia’s tears eased and she was silent for a moment or two. “I’d like to think about that.”

“When you feel better, I’m sure you will. But you should sleep a little bit now. Rest is the best medicine for the moment.” The hand stroked again, and Amelia found herself drifting…

Aunt Bertie watched the eyelids close over those extraordinary blue eyes. The fever was mounting, if she were any judge of these things. Pray God it broke before morning. A prolonged fever could be very dangerous, and Aunt Bertie had seen it before, on her travels across Europe.

Amelia had the best of care, but fevers knew no boundaries, no position in society and had no respect for care and attention. They would rise and fall as they wanted, and bedamned to the patient.

She was an interesting woman, mused Bertie. Incredibly beautiful, but haunted by the sound of things. Bearing the weight of past sins, as everyone must at some point in their lives.

Still, if anyone could get her past it, Ian was the man for the job. And he was head over heels for her—another point in their favor.

Bertie sighed. She’d rather like to have a man head over heels in love with her, but had to admit that she was probably past that point in her life. Although there had been that charming Sir John Barrington…

*~~*~~*

Ian crept in to their bedroom, not sure what to expect. He’d been much longer than he’d expected, missed dinner, and arrived barely in time to snatch a quick drop of brandy with Aunt Bertie before excusing himself and dashing upstairs to check on his wife.

Aunt Bertie had warned him that he would find her uncomfortable, and that she would improve once the fever broke. But until then it would be a rough few hours for the poor girl.

The maid who was with her was skilled in nursing, so he wasn’t to worry. She was in the best of care.

In fact, all the women had taken turns in watching over her during the day, and Ian’s heart swelled at the generosity and affection they were showering on his wife.

But now it was his turn.

“How is she?” He addressed the whispered question to the maid, who had risen when he entered.

“She’s about the same, sir,” the maid whispered back. “I’ve just given her another dose of the willow bark tincture, and there’s willow bark tea over there. She should have some of that around midnight if you can get her to take it. Otherwise I’ve cool cloths for if she gets fretful, and plain water to ease her thirst.”

“Thank you. I can see my wife is getting the best care of anyone in London.” He smiled gratefully at the maid.

She curtseyed. “I’ll be off now then. Now you be sure and ring if you need anything at all, sir. We’ll have someone up all night, just in case.”