Formidable Lord Quentin (28 page)

“And you think I do not have business to tend?” she asked
loftily. “You will notice I have not spent these last years frivoling my wealth
away.”

“A matter of opinion,” he reminded her, “but you are
entitled to use your funds as you deem best. I would not have offered for you
if I thought you were an inveterate gambler. If you wish to spend your funds on
horses and the Hall and our families, I have no objection. Give me some credit
and don’t be so defensive, Bell.”

Through the darkness, he could see her hugging her mare’s
neck. She’d been badly damaged, but he knew she had the strength to overcome
anything. She had already overcome her past, but now . . . she could be so much
more. It was almost as exciting to watch Bell emerge from her chrysalis as
seeing what steam engines would become.

“I’m trying to be more confident,” she said with a hint of
sadness. “I know you’re a good man. But so was Edward once. People change, and
that’s what scares me.”

“We’ll change together,” Quent suggested, hiding his hope,
as he’d hidden it from the day he’d met her. His longing had been a part of him
for so long that he didn’t dare confess how much power she had over him.

She considered his suggestion far longer than he could hold
his breath. “That could be nice,” she finally answered. “We’re both a bit old
to change, though, aren’t we?”

“When I was your age, I was sitting all night in coffee
shops, spending my days in counting houses, burning candles at both ends. I
think I’ve changed,” he said with a grin.

“You were wenching and studying the marriage mart at the
same time,” she reminded him. “I remember seeing you haunting the back of the
theaters and the ballrooms. You were so gorgeously frightening, all thick
glossy curls that needed cutting and smoldering dark eyes that pierced to the
bone.”

“It wasn’t your bones I was seeing,” he retorted, unreasonably
pleased that she remembered the yearning youth he’d been. “But I’d sworn off
marriageable women then. It was you I was studying.”

“Me?” She actually sounded shocked.

“You.” He flashed a smile, hoping she could see it. “I
expected you to be another Camilla, and I waited for you to start playing fast
and loose on your elderly husband. You never did, to my vast disappointment.”

“No wonder Edward hated you! Good heavens, I really had no
idea. I was very young and very lost and very careful to do nothing that would
make him take a dislike to me. That still doesn’t mean I can change now,” she
warned.

“We’re smart,” he assured her. “We’ll change.”

“Mostly, we need to be determined to make marriage work,”
she said warily. “Do not think I have any illusions. I know you want to be off
about your business and that you’re fretting because you haven’t had time to
obtain a license and for half a dozen other reasons. I appreciate that you
understand how much my horses mean to me. But somehow, we have to learn to continue
living our own lives instead of in each other’s pockets.”

“Right now, there is nowhere else I’d rather be than in your
pocket,” he asserted, and realized he meant it. “Business can wait. The license
is a nicety. I don’t think our reputations will be lost if we have simple banns
posted. I can’t imagine the settlements will be completed in three weeks,
anyway. Just as long as I’m welcome in your home while we wait, I’m content.”

“No, you’re not,” she said with amusement. “You’re simply
doing what a stallion does, not that I mind at all. But let us at least pretend
to be respectable.”

And being welcome in her bed would have to satisfy him for
now, because Quent was certain they hadn’t seen the last of her conniving
relations. Now that the Boyles had an estate in their sights, they’d be after
Bell until they had what they wanted. Or he strangled them.

And then he had to find some way of making his father see
reason or tell him to jump off a cliff. Which would mean severing relations
with his entire family. That would be a trifle more difficult, akin to saying
he’d cut off his right arm to keep Bell. No matter how much he complained about
his many siblings, he knew his protective instincts wouldn’t allow them to
suffer—and his damned father counted on that.

***

It was the early hours before dawn by the time Nick moored
his ship at the small village near Belden Hall, a time when Bell would normally
be arriving home after a ball. The emotional day had been much more exhausting
than dancing. Wearily, she waited for the all-clear before leading her horse
out of her stall.

Quent’s stalwart presence kept her on her feet, but she was
ready for their bed. She didn’t care what the household thought, she needed his
strong arms around her, reassuring her that all was well.

The horses were as weary as she was—and undernourished
despite the grain she’d bought for them. They didn’t protest too vigorously as
she and Quent led them up the ramp and out of the hold.

She kissed Nick’s cheek as he held the wheel steady. “Will
you come with us or sail straight back to Nora?”

“I’ll wait here until the tide changes,” he told her. “With
your permission, we’ll come back to visit and see how you fare in your rural
abode before we leave for Amsterdam.”

Bell smiled at his hint of doubt. “Quent and I are very
civilized. You will not find us reduced to rags and ruin any time soon,
although there may be heads upon poles if our families should interfere. Will
you be here long enough to attend our wedding breakfast?”

He bowed over her hand. “Of a certainty. Nora would never
allow me to miss it. Try to arrange it before the winter winds fly,” he added
with a laugh.

He slapped Quent on the back and left them to find their own
beds while he returned to his comfortable bunk.

“I sent a groom into the village to secure a room for us,”
Quent told her. “Let’s not wake the household at this hour. Besides, you’re
dropping with exhaustion.”

Bell hugged him again. “No sisters demanding our attention
or brothers scalping tutors. A few civilized hours alone, perfect!”

“You’re sure you don’t want to send them all to Scotland?”
he asked with a note of hope in his voice.

Bell laughed. “Not for the world. Perhaps this is one of the
ways I’m changing, but I love having people around me again.”

Quent heaved an exaggerated sigh. “And here I escaped too
much family to find peace in London.”

She leaned wearily on his arm as they walked up to the inn.
“You still have time to bow out. I’ll not hold you to any promises you made in
rash lust.”

“No, my promise to you is a sacred vow. As long as you will
have me, I will be there. This is one way that I will not change, and that’s
another vow.” He kissed her head and led her into the inn.

It wasn’t a promise of undying love, Bell knew, so much as a
vow not to let her out of his sight, but that was pure Quent.

Reassured, Bell hid her laughter as Quent dickered with the
landlord over accommodations. He ended up promising to pay a monthly stipend in
return for improving a chamber just for them and their guests. The landlord was
thrilled to think the Hall would be opening and bringing in more paying
customers for the tavern and stable as well as the inn. She was amazed that
Quent actually remembered she was waiting and didn’t linger to argue details.

“You would have made a fine marquess,” she murmured as they
traipsed the stairs to their chamber. “You have a habit of taking charge.”

“I don’t think parliament would appreciate that habit,” he
said dryly. “And I know I would not appreciate their dithering. You must accept
me as the untitled tradesman that I am.”

“I do,” she murmured with enthusiasm, throwing her arms
around his neck after they closed the door behind them. “A title doesn’t keep
me warm in bed.”

He slid his broad hands under her spencer and cupped her
breasts. “There’s my Irish lass speaking.”

“Does that make you my Scots lad? No titles at all, sir,
just you and me and that lovely bed, please.” She tugged off his loosened
neckcloth.

“I am happy to oblige.”

With a tenderness that belied his size, he began removing
her clothing with more efficiency than her maid. Bell tried to return the
favor, but she had less experience. She fumbled the buttons of his breeches,
possibly because he pressed impossibly large against them.

Her need for him was almost frightening. After years of
distancing herself from others, she felt the old urge to pull away, but Quent
gave her no opportunity. He was there, big and demanding and . . . too
heart-racingly tempting for words.

He kissed her into nakedness. He stroked her into bed. When
she was sprawled wantonly over the sheets, he shocked her into surrender by
kneeling between her legs and plying her with fingers and tongue until she
cried out both release and demand for more.

Wickedly, unrelentingly, he returned to her breasts,
spreading kisses in search of all her weaknesses. When she could tolerate no
more, Bell shoved his shoulder, forcing him back to the mattress.

“I have always wanted to do this,” she said with glee. And
with no other warning, she settled over his loins and took him deep inside her,
where she could set the pace.

“By the devil, Bell,” Quent cried, “you’ll be the death of
me yet.”

As their bodies took over, no further words needed to be
said—that was the best part of lovemaking, Bell decided. She didn’t need to
think at all, just let him love her—
as
she loved him
.

As long as Quent had Bell at his side, he didn’t doubt his
decision to marry.

The moment Bell disappeared into the bowels of Belden Hall—and
her sisters descended on him—he had the urge to flee for town, just as Bell had
predicted.

“Where will the wedding be held?” Tess demanded. “You have
the license, do you not? Should we be writing invitations to the breakfast?”

“Will there be any eligible bachelors?” Syd asked eagerly.
“And will your family be there? What about the marquess?”

Quent shoved his hand through his hair and tried to glare
down their eager questions, but these were Bell’s sisters. They deserved
answers. He didn’t have any. “Where’s Bell?” he asked in desperation. They’d
only just arrived an hour ago. How far could she have gone?

“In the stable, of course,” Syd said with exasperation.
“That is why we’re asking you. We can’t pry her away from her horses long
enough to be sensible.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to leave the planning to the two
of you,” he suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous! We know nothing of your friends or
customs. Have you even set a date?” Tess asked.

They hadn’t even agreed on the settlements yet. Or obtained
a license, although Quent had managed to send a note around to the church to
have the banns read. Not that there were many people in town to hear them in
August, but that was legal enough. It simply took longer and limited options
for the ceremony.

“There are many agreements to be worked out first,” he said
evasively. “I’ll have my sisters come down to help and all of you can work out
the details.”

“They probably know as much as we do if they live in
Scotland,” Tess said with scorn. “You
are
planning to marry, aren’t you?”

“Definitely, but we’ve waited this long, we can wait a while
longer to do it properly.” That sounded like a good enough answer, but it
didn’t satisfy Quent much more than it satisfied the girls. Life had too many
interruptions. Anything could happen before he marched Bell to the altar.

Quent hunted down his assistant for male support. Penrose
seemed to be in his element, interviewing roofers and gardeners and tenants. Quent
knew nothing of renovating houses. He supposed he could set up the estate books
and examine the agreements Penrose was leaving on the desk in the unused study.

Was this how Bell had felt when she’d been dumped into
society without any preparation?

He really needed to be back in the city, in familiar
surroundings. He was an investor, not a steward. Show him what was needed to
build a steam engine, and he’d set up an entire production industry that would
feed his family into the future. Give him a horse . . . and he
rode it. The country held no interest for him.

Restlessly, with nothing else to keep him occupied, he went
in search of Bell to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing.

The stable was hot and musty and for horses, not men of
business. Quent acknowledged the necessity of animals, but then, outhouses were
a necessity, and he didn’t feel inclined to spend much time in them. Bell, on
the other hand, was developing a decided tendency to emulate the duke’s horse-mad
daughter and live in her stable.

He found his wife-to-be instructing the head groom on the
proper diet for her neglected animals. Her riding habit was the worse for wear.
He had a suspicion she would prefer breeches, but he wasn’t ready to relent
that far on the proprieties.

“They won’t be ready to ride for a while, will they?” Quent
asked, stroking Dream’s nose.

“Probably not until spring,” she said absently, checking the
horse’s hoof.

“Do you mean to stay here all winter to tend to them?”

She glanced up and blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t thought
about it. It would be pleasant to have Christmas in our own home. But you have
business in town, don’t you?”

“Christmas is a few months away, and your sisters have made
it plain that we have a wedding to plan—which needs to be in our parish unless
I obtain a license.”

She grimaced. “I suppose we should be back in town before
the end of September anyway. It will be cooler and people will be returning for
the short session. It would be easier on our wedding guests if we wait until
then.”

At least she wasn’t putting off the wedding to December,
Quent realized in relief. But he needed to be in town before then. “I don’t
like leaving you alone out here, but I have business that requires my
attention. If Penrose is turning himself into a steward, I’ll have to think
about hiring another assistant.”