Barbara Metzger (24 page)

“We have time. I am not too old to bear more children.”

Her age was perfect for him, one of the reasons he had married her. No flighty girl, no withered crone. “Then you don’t want…?” He eyed the bed longingly.

“Not tonight. What were the rules you wished to discuss?”

He sighed for lost causes. Rules? Oh, yes. “I would like to know where you are. Finding you gone had me worried, despite Claymore’s reassurances. I do not want you traipsing off without proper escort, not until the messenger gets back from Sir George, at any rate.”

She stopped to consider. “What do you deem proper escort? Yourself?”

Why not? Devil take it, wagers were already being placed in the betting books about who would be her cicisbeo, her gallant. No one dared to suggest a lover for her, not yet. That would come tomorrow, after they had filled their eyes with her tonight in the low-necked blue gown, without male companion. Damn, he would not have his wife’s name being bandied about. “Yes. I will escort you to a few social outings while you are in town. My secretary, when I hire one, can help decide which entertainments we should attend.”

“Thank you.” She looked at him inquiringly, then yawned. She was politely waiting for him to finish and leave.

He was not ready to go yet. “About the boys. I cannot have them hanging from the chandeliers, teaching the dogs to fetch using my walking sticks, ransacking the attics, playing with—”

“You will have to tell them yourself, Robert. I am too tired to remember. And you are their father.”

He was her husband, too, damn it, Rockford cursed to himself, for all the good it was going to do him tonight. There she was brushing her hair, and he could not even offer to do it for her lest he forget himself and wrap strands around his fingers, rub it against his cheek, kiss the nape of her neck, nibble on her earlobes.

He wished her a good night, knowing he was going to have a deuced uncomfortable one.

After another bath, a cold one this time, he climbed into his huge bed. And found a book under his pillow. His valet would not have placed it there. Not even Claymore would have dared. No, only his wife, his modest, virtuous wife, would have placed the
Kama Sutra
from his own library under his pillow.

His countess thought he needed lessons in lovemaking besides in how to be a father?

He laughed. It was that or cry.

Chapter Eighteen

Rockford was still smiling when he heard the soft tap on the door connecting his room to Alissa’s. “Changed your mind, Countess?” he asked when he opened the door. The grin spread to his groin, seeing her with her hair unbound.

Heavens, Alissa thought, if anything could make her rethink her decision to sleep alone it was the sight of Rockford smiling. His teeth were even and white, and now his mouth was softened with humor. His dark eyes sparkled, and that rare dimple showed in his cheek. His hair, damp from washing, hung down on his forehead, and his robe was loosely belted, leaving more of his chest showing. “Yes. I mean no. That is, I need your assistance with my gown. I cannot reach the fastenings on my own, and I do not want to disturb any of the maids.”

“You are a countess, madam. You may disturb anyone you want.” She sure as Hades disturbed him. He urged her further into the room, though, before she could change her mind about that too. He still held the book in one hand and, before setting it down on the bed to work on the complicated closures, he looked at it and said, “You are a surprising woman, you know.”

Alissa did not try to pretend that she knew nothing of the small volume, that some lusty leprechaun had placed it on his pillow. “I thought…”

He could well imagine what she thought, by Jupiter. He might have blushed, were he fifteen years younger. “I do not like surprises.”

“No, I would not guess that you did.”

He had turned her around and made short work of the ties and hooks that held her gown together.

“You are very good at that,” Alissa said, thinking of his former wives, his recent lovers.

He was still thinking of the book. He nodded to where it lay on his drawn-down bed. “I am good at a great many things.”

“Oh. I do like surprises.”

And his skill as a lover would be one? Rockford could not decide whether to be offended or amused. He decided to prove her wrong, now that his manly pride was pricked. He began to massage the muscles of her neck and back that he had just uncovered.

Alissa stepped away and turned to face him, holding the front of her gown up with her hands. “But not tonight. It is very late, and I have early interviews with prospective tutors in the morning. I hope to pay a call on Hysmith in the afternoon, if his grace will see me.”

“You are still determined to confront the duke, although you need neither his financial assistance nor the social entree he and his late wife could have supplied?”

“He is still my late husband’s family, my sons’ uncle. Why, his sons are their first cousins and they have never met. Willy and Kendall should know their kin.”

“My William and Rothmore are their stepbrothers now. Is that not kin enough?”

“What, are you worried that I will bring more Henning boys into your home? They should be young men now, I believe. Besides, if what you say about Hysmith is true, I doubt he will let his sons be in the same room with such lesser mortals as my children and me. Still, the duke’s recognition and reconciliation is something William would have striven for, for his sons, had he outlived his father. A closer connection to Hysmith will make the boys’ lives easier. It is not what I might wish, but it is the way of the world.”

Rockford thought she was underestimating him—again. His influence was all her sons needed, but the country countess was too unfamiliar with polite society to know that. He feared she would be disappointed with her meeting with the duke, but did not think that would dissuade the stubborn wench from going. She was like a bulldog when it came to her sons…and like a fractious colt when it came to him. He tried once more: “Shall I unlace your corset too?”

She was halfway to her own bedroom before he could raise his hands.

How many baths could one man take in a day?

*

Alissa found the ideal tutor—two of them. Mr. Lucius Canover was a scholarly young man of good breeding who had decided not to accept a university position, because instructors were not permitted to marry. At twenty-one, he wanted a family of his own someday, and was saving money to be able to support a wife by giving private lessons. His earnings had suffered a setback when his sixteen-year-old brother, Lawrence, broke his arm in a fall while rock climbing. Destined for the army, Lawrence was not bookish, but mad for sports and outdoor activities, now somewhat curtailed by his injury. He could not return to military school near Oxford, nor their crowded home in Lancashire, but had landed in London, on the doorstep of his brother’s one-room flat. They needed rooms, board, and income. Lucius needed a library for his Russian translations; Lawrence needed activity to keep him from boredom until his arm healed.

Alissa hired them both. The scholar had excellent references; the would-be soldier had captained his school’s cricket team. Both had fine manners and pleasant looks, knew London, and liked dogs.

She was delighted, and thought Rockford would be also, if he thought about it at all. Despite their conversation of the night before, he had not made an appearance that day, had not spoken to the children nor left word of his whereabouts. So much for him becoming a father and a husband.

Alissa made Lady Eleanor walk with them all across the square to Henning House, home of Morton Henning, the widowed Duke of Hysmith, her former brother-in-law.

“I do not think that is a good idea, Countess,” Eleanor tried to tell her.

“Nonsense. You cannot hide in your bedroom here. You will never be anything but a curiosity in London, the subject of rumor and innuendo, if you are not seen out and about, at your normal activities.”

“Calling on the Duke of Hysmith is not one of my normal activities.”

Nor was it Alissa’s either. The closest she had ever come to even meeting a duke was sitting in a cold room, waiting for William to be disowned. “No matter. You are the daughter and sister of an earl. I am wed to one. We are not mushrooms sprouting on his doorstep.”

Hysmith’s butler must have thought they were. He wrinkled his long nose as if they smelled of the gutters, instead of the neatly groomed park grounds where the children and dogs now romped, supervised by Amy and the Canovers, with two grooms watching. He tried to shut the door in Alissa’s face. “His grace is not at home.”

Alissa had been anticipating this day for too long to leave without a fight. “Very well, we shall wait for him here.” She gestured toward the park, where it appeared that the puppies had discovered squirrels. “I’ll just fetch the boys and the dogs, inside, shall I?”

“I believe his grace has just arrived home. If you will wait in the parlor, I will inform him of your call.”

The duke deigned to see Alissa and her sister-in-law, not the children. The women were shown into a room furnished in the Chinese style, with red-lacquered cabinets and fire-breathing dragons everywhere.

One of them rose as they entered. His grace raised his quizzing glass and slowly inspected Alissa, giving Lady Eleanor a more perfunctory survey. Alissa was glad she had worn the Rothmore pearls and a new peach-colored gown, although she doubted her fashion sense had anything to do with the duke’s curling lip. The man could give Rockford lessons in being toplofty, she decided, and Rockford was an expert.

Alissa tried not to be as obvious in her observation. Hysmith was much older than William, so he must have well over forty years in his dish, she estimated. He looked it, with fine fines starting to spread across his features. His waist must be spreading also, for she heard the telltale creaks of a corset when he made her the slightest of bows. His sandy hair was thinning, more gray than brown, and his eyes had slight pouches under them. With a twinge of sorrow, she noted a family resemblance to her late husband’s good looks, and something of Kendall’s gravity. The duke was a handsome man still, in a dignified way, but in his prime he must have been as attractive as William Henning, with fine blue eyes and a well-built physique. He was neither as tall nor as broad-shouldered as Lord Rockford, but he did possess that same air of confident authority, of power that did not need words to impress.

“Thank you for seeing me, your grace,” she said, making a low curtsy, then holding out her hand. The duke did not take it, so she swept her arm toward her companion as if that were her intention all along. “And may I present my sister-in-law, Lady Eleanor Rothmore?”

“We have met,” he said briefly, with another minuscule bow.

Lady Eleanor’s curtsy was shallower, if possible. Alissa looked at her companion in dismay. Eleanor might have mentioned that animosity already existed between the two families.

Eleanor lifted a shoulder. “I warned you this was not a good idea.”

They were already at the duke’s house. Alissa had to try. “As you must know, your grace, I have brought your nephews to London. I should like to introduce them to you as well.”

“Why?”

“Because they are kin. Your remaining brother lives in Yorkshire, so my sons have never met any of their cousins, neither of their uncles. They are Hennings, however, part of your family.”

“No.”

“Of course they are. I would not change their name to Rothmore, even if my new husband wished it. They are William’s sons.”

“William’s name was stricken from the family Bible when he made such a misalliance. Whatever whelps you spawned are nothing to me. Luckily my late wife blessed me with two healthy lads, and my second brother has three boys in Yorkshire, so your sons will never figure in the Hysmith succession. Cousins, you say? I do not wish my sons to be tainted with that
bad blood.”

Alissa could feel her anger rising. “They share your blood.”

“My father sired any number of bastard Hennings. They share my blood also, and I have as little to do with them.”

She gasped, going as pale as the pearls at her neck. “Are you suggesting my sons are baseborn?”

“Your first was born before nine months had passed, I have heard. Who can say? No, I do not wish to meet your brats, nor, if my sons were not at Oxford, would I permit them to associate with such low company. I mean my eldest son for Parliament, not your tawdry parlor.”

Alissa rose to her feet. Rockford had warned her. Now she had seen for herself. “You need not worry, your grace. I do not wish my sons to be associated with such a mean-spirited, bad-mannered churl. I am certain any sons you raised will be equally as obnoxious. Good day. Come, Eleanor.”

But Lady Eleanor could not resist a parting comment: “You always were a self-centered coward, Morton. I see you have not improved with age. You are as pigheaded as ever, only now there is less hair on your thick skull.”

The duke’s face turned red. “You dare to speak, madam?” he roared. “You used to be an outrageous chit, and now look at you, an outrageous old maid. If half the rumors I hear are true, you did not hold your scruples so high after all. Morality could not keep you warm after all these years, could it, my lady?”