Improper Pleasures (The Pleasure Series #1) (31 page)

“Chamber pot!” he choked out. Thanks to Rudd’s sharpened
reflexes, James didn’t ruin the expensive carpet.

Once he recovered enough to sit upright, Rudd handed him a
damp cloth with which to wipe his face. “I’ll have a bath sent up, my lord.”

The cool cloth revived James somewhat. He didn’t remember
making an appointment with Wesley, not that he remembered much about anything.
Seeing the guilty, shocked look on Astra’s face, Wesley’s hand possessively on
her arm, was the last clear thing he could remember. Bits of his wedding
flashed in his mind. Astra walking down the aisle. Her bouquet trembling in her
grip. Her stiffness when he took her into his arms after Fitzgerald pronounced
them man and wife. And that was about as far as his recollection served him. He
was almost positive—something last night’s full attire attested to—that he had
not consummated his marriage.

James stood on unsteady legs. “I don’t have time for a
bath. If Hutton thinks he’s man enough to meet with me the day after my
wedding, then meet we shall. Help me get dressed, would you?”

Mr. Rudd merely shook his head. He set a basin of water
and a bar of soap on the bedside table. “At least bathe. You reek. You’re a
disgrace to my reputation as a manservant.”

James did as instructed, grateful that Rudd did not try to
help. Though the assistance would have probably been helpful, James liked to
think he had a bit of his pride left.

“Where did you get the black eye?” James asked, noticing
bruising below Rudd’s left eye.

Mr. Rudd glanced over his shoulder where he laid out fresh
clothes for James. “Made the mistake of trying to undress you before we tossed
you into bed last night. You should apologize to the footman with the split lip.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself yesterday.” James examined his
scuffed and swollen knuckles. As if he didn’t already feel like an ass, he’d
assaulted the staff.

“Weddings are hard on the grooms. Nothing to be sorry
about. Keeps me on my toes.” Mr. Rudd brushed a coat he’d placed on a hanger.

Once James endured the grueling process of getting
properly groomed, he thought he actually might be able to ride a horse without
slipping off. Not that he was sure it would come to that. Perhaps he had made
an appointment with Wesley Hutton to visit the tenants, but James would wager
the weasel had more on his agenda than business.

“Lad, you’re getting yourself worked up again. You need to
relax so I can fix your neck cloth how you like it.” Mr. Rudd undid the knot
and tried again. James resisted the urge to snap since the elixir of bitters
and rum his valet had provided miraculously stopped James’s head from pounding.”

James unballed his fists and rolled his shoulders to relax
the tension in his neck. He would not act like a madman but as Wesley’s
employer and Astra’s husband. No matter what had gone on between those two
behind that tree, Astra had walked down that aisle and said her vows. Not that
clearly however. James suddenly recalled her voice breaking on a few of the
words.

“Have you ever been married, Rudd?”

“Afraid so.”

“What happened?”

“She left me and can’t say I blame her. Don’t you worry
about that, lad. Lady Keane is made of stronger stuff. Got yourself a good one
in that lass. She’ll stand by your side through thick and thin.”

Rudd stepped back and looked at his handy work. “Good as
new.”

James glanced over Rudd’s head and had to look twice to
make sure the haggard, puffy-eyed stranger staring back at him was indeed
himself. God, he looked a wreck.

“Thank you, Mr. Rudd. I owe you.”

“All in a day’s work. Glad to earn my keep. I’ll be up for
another round of sparring this evening, but we’ll have to find a different
footman. Daniel has asked to be transferred to the stable.”

“No need. I plan to let my wife help me undress tonight.” James
swung open the door, his false bravado fading at the sight of Lark curled up in
the hallway. What a fool he had been to insist that she attend the ceremony. He
had somehow thought having Astra’s daughter be part of the debacle would
sanctify their unholy alliance. Not only force Astra to see what her
manipulations had wrought, but show James as the better person, ready to take
on a wife he didn’t want and a child who needed a father. Looking into Lark’s
pale face, he acknowledged that he had also hoped to punish Astra. Though, he
had convinced himself it would be fun for Lark and she would not notice the
misery of the bride and groom. If anything good came out of his marriage, it
would be his vow to do everything in his power to spare this little girl
anymore pain.

“Lark,” he knelt before her, guilt gripping his gut.
“Where is your mother?” God help him if he’d frightened Astra or his new
daughter with his drunken antics last night.

Lark slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. She was dressed in a
different gown than the frilly one they had stuffed her in for the wedding, so
he hoped that meant she had not been in front of his door all night.

“You’re sick. Are you going to die?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“You are my father now and spriggans don’t want me to have
a father.”

James relaxed a bit. Her imaginary trolls again. “I’m not
afraid of the spriggans.”

“Will you fight a duel with one?”

A grin struggled to overcome his miserable mood. “If I
have to. Do you think it will be necessary?”

She nodded enthusiastically, shaking the multitude of
ribbons wound through her blond hair. “I think that might be the only thing
that will work. My mama is sick, too. They don’t want me to have a baby
brother.”

James paused to consider what Lark might have overheard
from the staff. No doubt the entire household knew he and Astra had slept in
separate bedrooms on their wedding night.

“Don’t listen to anyone else but me. If you want a
brother, you’ll have one. Your mother and I intend to be very happy together.”

Lark jumped to her feet. “That’s what makes them mad. I
saw it with my own eyes. I know you don’t believe me, but when my mama and papa
were happy, my papa always got sick. Reverend Fitzgerald promised that Jesus
would protect me because he loves the little children but who will protect
you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “But you’re
sick now. And my mama is sick too this time. You have to believe me because you
will get worse like my papa.”

James touched her chin and looked squarely into her
serious eyes. “I believe you, Lark. Together we will rid Eastlan of these
spriggans. I’ll search the garden high and low until we discover their hiding
place. What do you think?”

She wiped her tears and nodded. “I want my mama to be
happy and I want to have a brother to play with like other children.”

James stood. “I’ll work on that tonight.” At least, that’s
one promise he could keep. “Wesley is waiting.”

Lark grabbed his hand. “He doesn’t want me to have a
brother. He’s glad the spriggans made my papa sick.”

James turned to study Lark. Her insight did not surprise
him. Wesley had no doubt been in love with Astra long before her husband’s
demise. “I have my eye on Wesley Hutton. No aiding and abetting spriggans while
I’m the baron.”

“I’m glad you came to Eastlan. Everyone is.” Her blue gaze
brightened and a smile broke across her face. Suddenly, James was struck by the
striking resemblance between them. Lark truly would be his daughter in every
way.

“Not everyone. But don’t you worry. I’m going to attend to
him right now. Run along and take care of your mother.” James patted her head,
more like he would a dog then he intended, but it was a start. “Tell her it’s
going to be fine. I said so.”

Lark nodded then did as he asked, literally galloping down
the hall without further explanation. James headed for the stairs, but had to
stop and lean against the wall to catch his breath. He hadn’t been this sick
since his stint in a prison camp, where he had learned that the difference
between death and survival meant a strong stomach. He learned to eat things
that would make most people retch. And being a sailor, he could also drink like
one, so he shouldn’t be this incapacitated.

James took deep, even breaths to fight off the sharp pain
in his gut. Admittedly, he had drunk quite a bit, but this incident rivaled the
time he’d eaten a rat poisoned with arsenic. It had been at the beginning of
his imprisonment—before the British had decided whether they should treat their
captives as prisoners of war or hang them for treason. A fellow prisoner had
died from their experiments. The prison officials had called in a doctor to
ensure James didn’t have the plague. James had discovered that the prison rats
weren’t safe to eat and the good doctor complained of the prisoner’s inhumane
treatment. After that, the prison officials fed the Americans just enough to
keep them from starving. Thankfully, the locals charitably donated baked goods
to supplement the prisoners' diet and James never contemplated eating vermin
again.

James mustered his strength, stumbled down the stairs, and
swung open the door to his study. Hutton lounged in a chair before James’s
desk, his legs stretched out in front of him, not even bothering to adjust his
position at the sound of the door. He wore an expensive riding suit and a
highly polished pair of knee boots. Wesley’s clothes looked freshly delivered
from a very expensive tailor. No doubt he was sporting his best for a second go
at persuading Astra to run away with him again. Not that James had heard their
conversation, but their guilty expression when he stumbled upon them had spoken
volumes. He wasn’t too stupid to figure out what had happened behind that
willow tree.

“Comfortable?” James slammed the door behind him.
Apparently Wesley had decided to cease his portrayal of the groveling family
friend and retainer.

Wesley slowly turned to stare at James over his shoulder,
his eyes wide with undisguised shock. Apparently, he had been witness to
James’s condition yesterday and must be astonished to see him up and about.
Slowly, Wesley rose from the chair and backed toward the desk as if James
intended to lunge at him.

James pulled down the ends of his vest and strode to his
desk, racking his memory for what he might have done to cause such a reaction.
The effort brought on renewed pounding in James’s skull and a sheen of sweat
under his coat. God, he needed to sit down. He paused at the side table and
poured himself a brandy. Though he almost gagged at the smell, he needed
fortification, or at least something to help kill his misery. Either way, he
needed a drink.

When James returned his attention to Wesley, the man
continued to stare wild-eyed at him.

“I’m not armed so you can relax. If I was going to beat
you, I would have done it yesterday.”

James sat in his chair behind his desk, braced himself and
took a swig of brandy. The fiery liquid hit his stomach like a hard punch.
James gritted his teeth and took another.

Wesley glanced at the door as if he thought to run, then
slowly took his seat. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to visit the tenants
today, but I came anyway.”

James wasn’t about to ask him when he had made the
appointment, or admit that he had forgotten all together. Wesley continued to
study him cautiously.

“I don’t look that bad. You look like you’ve seen…” James
stopped himself from saying a ghost. Too many occupied Eastlan.

“I’ve not seen Lady Keane today. Is she well?” Wesley
asked anxiously.

“When I last saw her, she looked quite lovely. But women
tend to be at their best after an amorous night.” James would be damned if he
let Wesley know he spent his wedding night snuggled against a chamber pot.

Wesley glared, then quickly glanced away, his jaw tight.

“Why the hell are you here?” James said, perturbed that he
had to lie about being with Astra and a little disgusted with himself for what
he’d said. If he’d actually slept with his wife last night, he would have been
too much of a gentleman to say so.

“You have been insisting that we visit all your holdings.”
Wesley turned and didn’t bother to hide his hate-filled gaze. “I’m just trying
to honor your request, my lord.”

“Honor my request, my ass.” The brandy must have kicked in
because James was suddenly in a fighting mood. “You didn’t expect me to come
down the stairs today, did you? And why is that Hutton?”

Wesley shifted, crossed his legs. “I…” He began, then
paused. “I wanted to ensure Astra was well. She seemed quite upset yesterday.”

“Astra’s well-being is wholly my concern now. You have no
need to trouble yourself with her affairs any further.”

Wesley raised his chin defiantly. “Astra shall always be
my concern.”

“But never your wife. Be warned, Hutton. I don’t take my
marriage to Astra lightly. I won’t tolerate your interference.”

“She doesn’t love you.” Wesley sneered.

“When did sentiment come to play in a proper English
marriage?” James shrugged and sat back in chair, pretending a detachment he
sure as hell didn’t feel. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you explained
this to me yourself the day we visited the village. Love bears no importance.
But fortunately my land and title does. I’m quite a catch.”

Wesley kept his gaze on his hands that had become
unnaturally still. “I should be on my way.”

“But you never answered my question.” James forced himself
to stay behind his desk, not trusting himself within swinging distance of the
man. “Why are you here? You said your concerns were for Astra, but here you are
in my study. I imagine I would be the last person you would want to see today.”

“My position as Eastlan’s steward is far more important
than my personal preferences.”

“You don’t say? You can hardly tell that by the ledgers.
Perhaps Astra is your real concern.”