Chapter Seven

Q uinton handed Lady Catherine into his coach then nodded to the footman, who closed the door after he entered the carriage. Settling across from her, giving her the space he felt she might need, he tapped the ceiling, signaling to the coachman to drive.

"I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Dove-Lyon whom I should send word to that I would be escorting you home. I hope you do not mind—I thought it best that your mother and your Aunt Sybil were aware of the situation, and our intent to marry. I understand it will not be a surprise, and they will be expecting us to marry at once."

"Yes, as I shall be twenty-one in three days."

"Very close to the eleventh hour."

She sighed. "I had thought to have things settled a month ago." She lifted her gaze and stared into his eyes. "The first night I saw you."

Shock reverberated through Quinton. "The ball was a fortnight ago." Her hesitant smile had him adding, "Forgive me for sounding irritated. I do not recall meeting you before the ball, and I would never forget if we had."

"I was in the ladies' observation gallery with Mrs. Fernside—Mrs. Edmund Broadbank now. She was quite enraptured by the sight of the man who, fortunately for the both of them, won the challenge and married her. While I…" Her words trailed off, and she stared at her hands.

He reached across the carriage to take her hand in his. "And you?" When she did not answer right away, he urged, "Please tell me what you were going to say."

"Your beautiful auburn hair caught my attention, but your broad smile captured my heart."

Quinton chuckled. "No one has ever referred to the color of my hair as anything other than a trial to have to live with it."

"Oh, no. I think it is beautiful," she assured him. "I'm sorry, you must think me so gauche to speak of something so personal as your hair, when we hardly know one another."

"That will be remedied the day after tomorrow. Will that be enough time to gather the things you will need? Your paints and sewing supplies can be sent for after we marry." She laughed, and he wondered what he had said that amused her. "I take it you will need more time than that to pack your portmanteau and trunks."

The entrancing Lady Kit shook her head. "I intended to tell you before we signed the papers, but was distracted by your elegant prosthesis."

"You only saw the foot and the ankle, Kit…not the whole of it. I assure you, it is far from elegant."

She frowned. "Am I not allowed to express or have an opinion?"

"Of course you are. I beg your pardon."

"Thank you. It distracted me at first, as I've never seen a wooden foot before. After studying it, my considered opinion is that it is lovely."

He shook his head. He would not understand the woman he was to marry anytime soon. "Now as to your packing, best tell me now what is that I should know that you did not disclose."

Her heavy sigh, and the long stretch of silence that followed, had him wondering what was so damning that she could not tell him. A troubling thought came to mind, but he would not let anything stand in the way of marrying Kit.

"No matter what happened to you before we met, I shall not change my mind and will not cry off. I will have you as my wife, Kit. Now, tell me."

She met his gaze and blurted out, "I cannot sew a stitch in a straight line, unless it is made of leather, let alone any of other fancy needlework. The only thing I have painted is the exterior of the stables when my father had them constructed a number of years ago."

His mouth gaped open for a moment before he snapped it shut. A bubble of laughter filled him and spilled out, surrounding them, easing the tension from moments before. "By God, you are the only woman for me, Kit! You love horses, can repair any of the reins or traces should the stable master be unable to. Though I will not allow you to muck out any stalls, you have done so, and will know when one of the younger stable lads slacks off and doesn't do his duty. Our horses require the best, and I intend to see that they have it."

"Do you have plans in place for the horses you will be breeding?"

"Aye. A few of our mares are ready to breed. In a few years' time, all of London will be agog, as our horses will win steeplechase after steeplechase, while still others will be bred for hunting."

Her eyes were wide with wonder. "You called them our horses."

"Aye," he rasped, tugging on her hand until she was seated beside him. He wrapped his arm around her. "They will be ours, and you will be instrumental in the breeding and caring for our horses. Would that please you?"

She threw herself into his arms and kissed him with an awkward passion that warmed his heart and stirred his loins. He hoped that she would be as enthusiastic on their wedding night.

Imagining her reaction when she saw his abbreviated leg, he fell silent.

"Forgive me for acting like a hoyden, your lordship."

"It is Alec, and you did no such thing. I was thinking deep thoughts, and beg your forgiveness."

"You shall have it, though it isn't necessary." She glanced out the window. "We are almost there. Would you like to meet my aunt and mother, or will you be dropping me off?"

"My dear Kit, what kind of gentleman would I be to open the carriage door and shoo you out as if you were a stray kitten that jumped into my carriage, disturbing my peace?"

She lifted her shoulder, the movement far more graceful than a mere shrug. "I gather, then, that you are interested in meeting my aunt and mother."

"I would like to meet them, and speak to them to ensure that they can be confident in my intentions toward you. I plan to give them my word that I shall always treat you well and take care of you as befitting your new title…Countess Stansbury. I must also ask if there is anything else I need to know about the verbiage in your father's will, specifically regarding your marrying before your twenty-first birthday."

She placed her hand on his forearm. "Alec?"

His heart warmed at her touch and the way she breathed his name. "Aye?"

"Thank you. I promise I will try to behave like a countess should, but I should have warned you that I did not pay any mind to Mum's lessons in the management of a household, delegating duties to our staff, or planning a dinner for twelve—or twenty, for that matter. I do know that an uneven number is never to be tolerated. I remember more than one occasion when one of the footmen was asked to fill a vacant seat. The dire consequences of having an uneven number of guests at one's table were never explained. I believe it may be due to something of a superstitious nature."

Quinton wrapped his arm around her, settling her against his side, and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I am quite certain that I do not deserve you, Kit, but I will do my damndest to take excellent care of you, and see that you will never want for anything."

She leaned against him. "I am quite sure you are getting the short end of the bargain, Alec, but I will do my best to see that you are well taken care of and never want for anything."

He was smiling when their lips met. She responded, all but melting into his embrace. Warm. Supple. Giving. Kissing Kit was like being enveloped in a warmth he had not known existed.

As he deepened the kiss, he cupped her cheek in his hand…wishing he had the use of both. But he would in a few days. Her soft moan of pleasure ripped through him and grabbed him by the bollocks. Here was passion waiting to be awakened—by him!

He grappled with the need rising within him and gentled the kiss, nipping the fullness of her bottom lip before easing his hold on her. Quinton expected her to shift away from him. Instead, she sighed and laid her head in the crook of his arm. Need for this woman eclipsed what he had felt for his former fiancée—the woman who'd cried off after learning he did not return from battle with both legs.

The carriage slowed, and he strained to overcome the need to take what Kit innocently offered him. He was not a rutting beast, unable to control his desires, though the innocent beauty had beguiled him from the first moment he laid eyes on her and had him struggling for control. That she had seen him weeks before and been attracted to him was an unexpected boon.

He damned the direction of his thoughts—he needed to control his physical reaction to Kit, now ! The image of heavy chains attached to a ship's anchor wrapping around his desire, with the help of twenty able-bodied sailors, was laughable but necessary. He smiled at the improbable image, relieved once his control was firmly back in place. He rested his chin on the top of Kit's head.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and he placed his knuckle beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. "Never hide your passion or desire from me, Kit. There is no shame in it, and I would have us be honest with one another. If there were any way I could show you my leg before we exchange vows, without compromising you beyond the pale, to ensure it would not horrify you, I would."

Her eyes bored into his. The depth of her compassion was yet one more aspect of the woman that drew him to her.

"Know this," he rasped. "Should you find yourself unable to stomach the sight of my stump, I will not hold it against you. Even after a decade, there are times when I myself am not quite used to the sight of it."

Her fierce frown was unexpected. "Do you believe me so lacking in courage that I would turn you away after the challenge you faced to win my hand? You damaged your shoulder to the point where it is immobilized, your hands are bandaged, and your face has been scraped raw on one side. Though I do not know the particulars, I do know a grappling hook was involved."

Exhausted at the reminder of the earlier feat of strength and will, he murmured, "It is over—why bring it up?"

"I would like to know what you had to do to win my hand."

"Very well—"

He was interrupted when the carriage door opened, revealing the earl's footman. "Allow me to assist you, Lady Catherine."

She flashed Quinton a look that promised they would indeed have that conversation, before accepting his footman's assistance to step down from the carriage. A moment later, he was standing beside her. She slipped her arm through his and whispered, "Do not mind Aunt Sybil. She takes after Father and is quite autocratic when she feels she has lost control of a situation."

"Ah, I suppose having to find a husband with the help of the Black Widow of Whitehall would be admitting one had lost control."

Kit gently tugged on his arm. "We'd best get this over with."

Quinton wondered if he had not thought the matter through. "Mayhap I should have waited another day before meeting them."

Her inelegant snort did not cover her burst of laughter. "Another day would not matter—your arm would still be in a sling, your hands bandaged, and your poor face…"

"If my appearance is that disturbing, mayhap I should not stay." Kit had muddled his head from the moment he laid eyes on her. He nodded to the butler standing at attention by the open door to the town house. "I shall leave you in good hands and beg your aunt and mother's indulgence for my untidy attire. It was a feat worthy of Odysseus battling Scylla and Charybdis."

"Please stay and meet them, for I can absolutely see you as the brave Odysseus, your lordship."

The butler's eyes widened as he fought against the urge to smile. Quinton liked the man on the spot. "I take it you are familiar with Greek mythology."

Kit laughed. "It was one of the requirements Father had before hiring Williams, although not for the rest of our staff."

Quinton nodded to the butler. "Most unusual."

When the butler's lips twitched, Quinton knew the man would be someone he would trust to guard Kit's family. They needed a stout man who would act as keeper of the gate. He would see if the footmen stood up to his expectations in being able to defend the women of the household should the need ever arise.

Why his thoughts turned in that direction, he could not say—mayhap it was the feeling of unfinished business between Hudson and himself. Quinton decided to send word to the man he knew who would be able to ferret out information about his former competition: Captain Coventry.

"Your aunt and mother are anxious to meet your betrothed, Lady Catherine," the butler said.

She tightened her grip on Quinton's arm and gave it a tug. "As I am quite sure Earl Stansbury is to meet Aunt Sybil and Mother. Thank you, Williams."

"I am certain you realize, Lady Catherine, that I am not dressed to be received in such polite company." Quinton slipped his arm free and brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I would prefer to present myself to your family when I am at my best."

Her nose wrinkled as her frown deepened. "And I thought I made my feelings on the matter clear. Another day will not improve your countenance, your lordship."

"Catherine Cordelia Huntington!"

Kit lifted her shoulders up to her ears as if that would prevent the formidable-looking woman standing in the entryway from ringing a peal over her head. "I do beg your pardon, your lordship. May I present my aunt, Lady Sybil."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Sybil. Do forgive my appearance, as I was involved in an altercation earlier and have not had a moment to return home to repair my appearance."

The older woman's gaze never left his face when she replied, "I take it from your being on our doorstep that you arose the victor in said altercation?"

He struggled to contain his snort of laughter. "You are correct."

"Catherine, your mother is asking for you. Williams, escort his lordship to the library, and see that he has a brandy—"

"No thank you. I should be on my way."

Lady Sybil's eyes flashed, and he wondered what had the woman irritated—his need to rush off? He'd best stay and get to the bottom of things.

"Though if you have anything other than brandy to offer, I may change my mind."

From the way she narrowed her gaze, he'd succeeded in irritating her further. "Williams, have Cook prepare tea for our esteemed guest, while I speak with my sister-in-law. I shall join you shortly."

Her face flushed with anger, the woman spun around and stomped toward the staircase, following after his bride-to-be. He turned and found Williams studying him intently. "Is there something amiss other than my less-than-ideal appearance?"

The butler shook his head. "Lady Sybil likes order."

"I see." And Quinton did appreciate a well-run household himself. "Having served in His Majesty's Royal Navy, I wholeheartedly agree. Though there are times when it is not possible for one to control everyone and every situation surrounding them."

Williams nodded but did not speak again until he opened the door to the library. "Please have a seat, while I see about the tea. Is there something stronger you would prefer to sip while you wait, your lordship?"

"To be honest, I'd prefer rum."

The butler slowly smiled. "I know where Cook keeps a bottle for the rare occasion when Lady Catherine's father would ask for it."

"Thank you, Williams."

"My pleasure, your lordship."

Alone, Quinton allowed his shoulders to sag. God, he could not remember a time when his body ached more…except for his first year at sea. The warmth of the fire drew him toward it. Ever since that last battle, he grew chilled when he was tired. Mayhap it was his imagination, but nevertheless, he stood close to it and felt the warmth radiate through his aching body, easing it.

A few moments later, Williams returned with a dark bottle on a tray. "With Cook's compliments."

"Thank you, Williams. I… Um. Would you—"

A glance at Quinton's sling, and the butler said, "Please sit here by the fire, your lordship, while I fill your glass."

Quinton sat down. "Better only fill it one quarter of the way. Any more than that, and I may fall asleep in this chair."

The butler nodded as he poured the rum. "Lady Sybil has been on edge all evening. On behalf of the staff, may I offer our congratulations. Lady Catherine is a gem, overlooked during her first…"

Williams looked distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't often a butler would strike up a conversation with a guest, but his concern for Kit was admirable and something to be commended. "She is indeed a diamond of the first water. How she was overlooked, I cannot begin to imagine, though mayhap it was because she was meant to wait for me."

The butler grinned. "His lordship would have approved of you." Williams lowered his voice and confided, "No matter what Lady Sybil has to say. I'd best fetch the tea. Their ladyships will be here shortly."

"Thank you, Williams."

"My pleasure, your lordship."

A few moments later, the door opened and Lady Sybil entered the room, a tearful Kit following in her wake. He set his glass on the table beside his chair and shoved to his feet. Ignoring the older woman, he stepped around her, dipped in his waistcoat pocket, and retrieved his handkerchief. Offering it to Kit, he asked, "Who has made you cry, Lady Catherine? I shall be happy to put the fear of God in them."

She glanced out of the corner of her eye for the barest of seconds toward her aunt and back. "It is nothing, your lordship."

"Your tears are fully my concern now." He slipped his arm around her waist, anchoring her to his side, and looked down at the woman he suspected had caused Kit to cry. "I will have your explanation now, Lady Sybil."

The woman's dark eyes flashed with anger. "How dare you—"

"I would advise you to curb your anger in my betrothed's presence, and your tone when speaking to me. The walls have ears, and even well-meaning servants will talk. Would you bring censure upon your brother's home, his wife, and daughter?"

She lifted her chin, glaring at him. "You have no right—"

"I have every right, and in my pocket I have the special license." He turned his back on her and faced Kit. "We can be married this night, if that be your wish, Kit."

"It's Lady Catherine—" Lady Sybil interrupted.

Kit ignored her aunt. "Yes, I will marry you tonight, Alec."

"Have you lost your mind, Catherine? How could you consign yourself to life with half a man? Do you not know of the earl's deformity? I shall send word immediately to Mrs. Dove-Lyon that our solicitors will be contacting her in the morning."

Kit's tears vanished as she glared at her aunt. "You will apologize to Earl Stansbury immediately. He is a naval hero who was injured during the Battle of Trafalgar. What he gave in blood, flesh, and bone to protect our king, country, and—God help us—you, aunt, could never be repaid. If I ever hear you utter the word deformity in tandem with Alec's name again, I shall see that your stipend is cut off!"

The bone-white shade of her aunt's face surprised Quinton. He had not thought the woman had a weak spot. He had a new respect for his wife-to-be. She had had a weapon in her arsenal to hurl at the unsuspecting enemy in his defense, and threw it aiming to destroy. No quarter, no prisoners .

"You would not dare," Lady Sybil countered.

"She would indeed," a voice echoed from behind them. "Kit has her father's temper and keen sense of survival. I am ashamed that I have forgotten that while grieving his loss. It is time I step back into my role as mistress of this household."