Lords of Scandal: The Beleaguered Lord Bourne / The Enterprising Lord Edward

“Kit,” came the voice of Ozzy Norwood as he joined his friend after sending two very disgruntled ladies on their way back to Drury Lane. “I demand you return my favor and introduce me to your beautiful companion. Two for one may not be a fair exchange, but then a simple mister cannot command the same privileges as an earl, what? By the by,” he added, securing his friend’s coffin with a few finishing nails, “this one makes those two warblers look like yesterday’s kippers, stap me if they don’t. Can’t blame you for dumping them in my lap and loping off like that.”

A large rock—possibly Gibraltar itself—was lodged in Lord Bourne’s throat, making coherent speech impossible, although he did try a time or two, gasping and choking badly before subsiding into silence and glaring at his grinning friend.

Just as Ozzy’s eyes were belatedly taking in Jennie’s simple but well-cut gown and the presence of a female much resembling a lady’s maid standing in front of what looked suspiciously like Bourne’s town carriage—a small glimmer of light beginning to grow in his pleasantly vacant face—Jennie stepped into the breach and took charge.

Extending a small gloved hand in his direction, she said brightly, “You must be one of my husband’s good friends—one of those selfish creatures who so monopolize his time in lengthy sessions reminiscing about your shared youths. But I’ll forgive your interruption of our honeymoon, as I know how greatly Kit enjoys reliving his childish exploits. He must, mustn’t he, as I have not seen him above a moment or two since we arrived in town.”

“It’s all my fault!” Ozzy sacrificed bravely. “He didn’t want to be with us, you know. We fairly begged for his company. Don’t blame him, my lady, I implore you—”

Jennie pretended to pout, throwing out her full bottom lip, thereby nearly inciting her husband to violence, then brightened visibly as she said, “I have it! You must come to dine. Just as soon as our French chef is in residence—say, a week from today? And bring your two cousins, as I do so pine for some female companionship. After all, sir, any friend of Kit’s cannot help but find welcome in Berkeley Square. Isn’t that so, dear?” she asked the mute earl. Was that smoke she saw coming out of her husband’s ears? she thought, feeling rather full of herself.

“You’re kind, ma’am,” Ozzy blustered, his overtaxed intellect reeling under the barrage his faux pas had unleashed and powerless to maneuver out of range of attack. “Too—too—kind. Indeed,” he said, attempting an air of worldliness, “Kit is undeserving of such a fine lady as yourself.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Jennie responded. “I quite agree. But then we so seldom get what we deserve, don’t we?”

At last Kit found his tongue. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my love,” he put in, leading her toward the open door of the coach. “Some of us get exactly what we deserve. In fact, one of us might just get it this very night if she continues asking for it so blatantly.”

“Really?” Jennie exclaimed, bravado masking the fact that her knees were beginning to experience a decided tendency to quiver. In a much lower voice heard only by her husband she added, “My papa always warned me that people who choose to live in glass houses should beware of tossing rocks. Look to yourself, my love, before casting any stones at my behavior. Retribution can be demanded on both sides.”

After delivering this stunning coup de grace, Jennie turned, inclined her head to her husband’s friend and incidental tattletale, and allowed herself to be assisted into the carriage. Blond head held high, she concentrated on her second verbal victory over her husband and determinedly resisted any thoughts concerning her ridiculous overreaction upon seeing Kit enjoying the company of any female besides his wife—who wouldn’t cross the street with him if he asked her to, which, she owned sourly, he hadn’t.

As the carriage drove away Kit turned to his lifelong friend, ready to do murder in broad daylight while standing in the middle of crowded Bond Street. “Now, now, Kit, old chum, it was an honest mistake,” Ozzy began, hastily backing up a step. “You never told me your wife was such a looker. Anyway, wives ain’t supposed to be pretty. They’re supposed to have big dowries and buck teeth. And hatchet noses. And…and…and scrawny chests—”

“Keep your filthy mouth off my wife’s chest!” Kit was so overcome as to bluster before realizing exactly what he was saying. “Never mind that! What in thunder did you think you were about, prancing over here like some hound in heat and cadging in a tryst with my wife as if she were some trollop we’d share between us? Are your brains entirely to let that you’d mistake a lady for one of your loose women? I ought to call you out for this, Ozzy, I swear it!”

Ozzy cast his eyes about furtively and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Attracting a crowd, sport. What say we toddle down to White’s and settle this quietly over a bottle? My treat, o’ course. Call me out, you say. You wouldn’t really do that, Kit, would you? Deuced unsporting of you, knowing what a fine shot you are, don’t you think?”

Looking around, Kit reluctantly realized the wisdom of Ozzy’s warning—while hating to credit his friend with even a small portion of brainpower at that moment—and roughly grabbing the fellow by the elbow, he surreptitiously pushed him along the flagway as if unsure Ozzy wouldn’t bolt if he relaxed his hold.

It took more than one bottle before Kit could find any small bit of humor in the scene lately enacted in Bond Street, but no amount of wine or conciliating chatter on the part of Ozzy would make Kit believe Jennie could be induced to speak to him again much before the first snow of winter.

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR A MAN who had so distinguished himself in battle as to have been mentioned in dispatches more than a half-dozen times, Kit showed a remarkable lack of courage when it came to confronting his wife. Perhaps this reluctance to face her stemmed from the fact that he knew himself to be totally in the wrong—as even the slapdash marital habits of the ton included at least a show of fidelity, certainly during the first flush of the union.

So Jennie was left to wade her way through the long list of applicants who replied to her advertisement—their numbers making a long, snaking line that stretched from the servants’ entrance into Berkeley Square itself—while the earl continued making himself scarce.

Five days after their meeting on Bond Street, Kit at last ran out of diversions and found himself, at only three in the afternoon, at loose ends. Lacking any other alternative, he directed his mount to the rear of Berkeley Square, dismounted in front of the stable doors, turned, and walked headfirst into a mountain.

“What the devil?” Bourne exploded once he had regained his breath. Looking up, quite a good way up, actually, his startled eyes took in the sight of an enormous, hairless, black head fitted with glittering black-bean eyes; a gargantuan head that sat atop the largest man Kit had even seen.

Two hands as large as hams reached out to steady him, nearly crushing his shoulders in the process, as Kit rocked slightly on his heels. The man must be all of seven feet tall, the gaping earl told himself in amazement. I can only hope he’s a friendly beast.

Recovering his dignity and firmly stamping down any impulse to turn tail and make a run for it, Kit inquired softly: “What—er, I mean, who are you?”

“I be called Tiny,” the giant rumbled from somewhere deep in his massive chest.

“Naturally,” the earl quipped ruefully, his quick sense of the ridiculous coming to the rescue.

“I be the earl’s new groom. Who be you, sir?”

“I be—er—I’m the earl, actually,” Kit informed him, stepping out of Tiny’s large shadow and back into the sunlight. “So, you’re my new groom, eh, Tiny? Tell me—who hired you?” Kit held out a hand before Tiny could answer. “No, don’t tell me, let me guess. Lady Bourne, right?”

“Lady Bourne, she be a queen. I be ready to die for her,” Tiny growled passionately. “I be ready to kill for her. With these hands,” he swore, holding out his large fists and then clenching them tight.

Kit swallowed hard and stretched his neck. “Good, Tiny. I like—um—loyalty in a servant. But I asked her ladyship to secure two grooms.” He looked the giant up and down, still amazed by the man’s size. “Or did she think she had?”

“’ullo, guv’nor,” came a thin, high voice as Tiny stepped sideways to reveal the person standing behind him. “Goliath’s m’name and groomin’ nags m’game. Me an’ Tiny ‘ere ‘re a team, ye ken. Worked the trav elin’ circus till it went flat, an’ yer missus took us up. Right pretty piece too,” Goliath added with a wink, earning himself a menacing growl from Tiny.

“A dwarf,” Kit breathed in amazement, looking down on the tiny man. “A bloody dwarf.” And then, remarkably, he grinned. “Why not? Why the bloody hell not?”

“You be wantin’ Tiny ta take yer horse?” the large man asked almost timidly, belatedly remembering his mistress’s hint that the earl was best humored at first, until he felt more at ease with his new staff.

“That’s very kind of you, Tiny,” Kit thanked the man as he turned and headed toward the rear of the mansion. “Just toss him over your shoulder, why not, and carry him into his stall. I’m sure he’ll give you no trouble.”

Goliath let out a giggle and executed a perfect, if compact, backflip. “’e likes us, Tiny,” the delighted dwarf crowed, jumping up and down on his sturdy, stubby legs. “’ome at last we is, boyo, ‘ome at last!”

JENNIE PACED the drawing room in mounting apprehension. Kit’s behavior had been courtesy itself since their unfortunate meeting in Bond Street, not only refraining from taking out his threatened revenge on her person, but allowing time and distance to separate them from the nastier memories of that meeting.

Since she had spent a very busy week interviewing possible servants for the mansion, Jennie’s memories of that fateful meeting had been given a chance to mellow, so that now she could recall little of her former anger, concentrating instead on the ludicrous image of her infuriating urbane husband at a total loss for words. Of her other, more unsettling feelings at having spied two obvious ladies of the evening dangling from her husband’s sleeves, she refused to think at all. It only confused the issue, whatever it was.

She’d been granted time, and time was what she had needed. Time to complete her new wardrobe, and time for some of her new things to be delivered, so that she could, when the time came, face him in her new finery. That was important. She needed the outward trappings of her new title about her when her husband confronted her demanding she explain about the servants she had hired.

Oh, yes, she mused knowingly, there would be quite a grand to-do then. She was not a complete fool. But she must make him understand her reasons for hiring Tizzie and Lizzie, Tiny and Goliath, Charity—the poor, dear thing—Bob, Ben, and Del, and Irvette and Blessing. Even Montague, the French chef Kit had particularly requested, would require a good deal of explaining on her part, she knew.

Now the time and space Kit had granted her began to wear on her nerves. She yearned to have him summon her, ring a peal over her head, and have done with it.

Bundy had told her he would. Even Goldie had clucked her tongue at the sight of Charity—the poor, dear thing. Renfrew, Jennie silently blessed the man, had said nothing, possibly because Del’s happy “Mornin’, guv’nor” as he took up his proper footman position in the foyer had robbed the majordomo of coherent speech.

Deep in her heart of hearts, Jennie knew she had grossly overstepped herself. She had been commissioned to hire the servants, of course she had been, but she had not been given carte blanche to employ the odd assortment of humanity she had chosen. But they had needed jobs so desperately, she consoled herself. All those other, qualified applicants, who had presented themselves, references in hand, would have no difficulty in finding positions.

But Tizzie and Lizzie, for instance, had little hope if she turned them down. Where could two overage, out-of-work Shakespearean actresses find work if even the lowest traveling troupe would not hire them? And as for Charity—the poor, dear thing—she might well expire in a filthy gutter if Jennie hadn’t taken her on as tweeny. Not that Charity could climb the stairs very much in her present condition.

Surely Kit would understand. Jennie picked up a Dresden statuette of a young maiden and scowled into its placid, peaceful face. And a herd of elephants might dance on the head of a pin. Of course Kit wouldn’t understand! Why should he? Hadn’t the man already proved himself to be a heartless beast capable of compromising an innocent maiden, marrying her, and then deserting her in the midst of a strange city?

Jennie rapidly worked up a full head of steam, all her heart directed at her cruel husband, the heartless monster from whom she must protect her latest batch of ugly ducklings and pitiful misfits. How dare he question her judgment! Who was he to set himself up as arbiter of all that was required to make a good and loyal servant? Well, she thought, now in a high state of temper, just let him say one word against her choices. Just let him dare!

Kit’s entrance into the drawing room at that precise moment was not exactly a triumph of superb timing. “Good day, m’love,” he began cheerily enough. “And what are you about today?”

Jennie whirled on him in some heat. “And just what is that snide remark supposed to mean?” she sneered, her green eyes narrowed into wary slits. “How unhandsome of you, Kit, how very unhandsome of you!”

“I make you my compliments, ma’am,” Kit drawled, executing an elegant leg in her direction. “That is quite a novel greeting. Am I, I sincerely trust, going to be given an explanation for it, or am I to be summarily executed for my sins without even so much as a hearing?”

Jennie tossed her blond curls and sniffed. “Oh, you think you’re so very droll, don’t you?”

She ain’t exactly falling over herself to be nice to me, Kit told himself, hiding a smile. Possibly she feels attack to be the best defense. I wonder what she believes herself to be guilty of, for I doubt I have been in Berkeley Square frequently enough to have done anything too lamentable. “What is it, puss?” he prompted, lowering his rangy frame into a chair and stretching his legs before him. “Have you overspent your allowance? If so, don’t fret, for if that fetching creation you are wearing is part of the reason I forgive you with all my heart. You really do clean up quite nicely, pet, if I must say so m’self.”

Having successfully taken himself out of the pan and placed himself squarely in the fire, Kit subsided into silence, content to watch the sparks now emanating from his wife’s eyes.

Plopping down on the settee opposite his chair, Jennie spat nastily, “Oh, do be quiet. I know very well you have just come from the stables, dressed as you are. Don’t tell me you don’t have something cutting to say to me about our new grooms, for it won’t fadge, Kit, truly it won’t. Well,” she nudged, “go on—have done with it. Tell me I am the greatest fool since time began—even Bundy would not gainsay you.”

Kit had the audacity to assume a crestfallen expression. “How low your opinion is of me, ma’am. I had nary a thought but to praise you on your finds. What splendid grooms Tiny and Goliath will make. Goliath can tend horsey hoofs all the day long without ever complaining of a sore back, and Tiny—why, the man is invaluable. If one of my blacks comes up lame I’ve simply to set Tiny between the shafts and I’ll have the fastest curricle in all London, possibly all England.”

“Don’t you make fun of them,” Jennie shot at him angrily. “Don’t you dare make fun of them!”

The smile left Kit’s handsome face. “I do not make fun of them, Jennie. It is you who demean them by thinking they are in need of your protection. It is you who sees them as different, not me. Oh, I admit to being momentarily startled by their rather, er, different appearance, but I believe I recovered in time so as to not embarrass either them or myself.” He leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Actually, pet, it is you who should be apologizing to me for believing I would let some sort of prejudice against people who are a bit different influence my consideration of their talents. If they prove to be good grooms, they shall stay. If not—” his voice hardened fractionally “—no power on earth will induce me to keep them on. Do we understand each other?”

Jennie had the good grace to feel ashamed of herself, and said so—quite prettily—causing Kit’s smile to return. It was then, as she was enjoying this show of friendly compatibility, that she decided to press her luck.

“Tiny and Goliath are not the only servants I have hired. You may not be so generous when you have met them.”

“Again you malign me before the fact.” Kit sighed theatrically. Really, this getting along with wives was not so bad after all. Jennie was proving quite easily maneuverable. She was also, as he had observed earlier, growing to be quite easy on his eyes. Marriage certainly did have its compensations. Hard as it was to believe, he was beginning to truly enjoy her company.

What a pity she was not more worldly or he might be tempted to bed her. Yet, he surprised himself by thinking, he was glad she was not worldly, had little experience of men such as himself. Disturbed by this train of thought, he swiftly turned his mind back to the subject at hand. “Tell me about the rest of our staff, pet. If I am going to live here I guess I should make myself at least tokenly acquainted with them.”

Look at him, Jennie told herself irritably, sitting there looking so smug and self-satisfied—and so wretchedly handsome, she added reluctantly. Oh, he thinks he’s got me right in the palm of his hand. The high and mighty Earl of Bourne, condescending to be nice to his simple, countrified wife. How dare he try to manipulate me this way! Even worse, how dare he succeed so handily!

She would have verbally taken him to task then, but she could tell, by the disgustingly satisfied smile on his face, that she might just as well save her breath to, as Goldie said, cool her porridge. Well, if he intended to be disobliging she saw no reason not to do likewise. “I see no need to give you a recital of our serving staff, seeing as how you are home so seldom and unlikely to run into other than those on duty after midnight.”

So it sits like that, does it, Kit mused, raising one speaking eyebrow as he took in Jennie’s flushed cheeks. The kitten has her back up yet again. “I would perceive the wisdom of your words, kitten,” he told her with a maddening smile, “except for one thing. I have decided to change my ways, knowing myself to be guilty of shamelessly neglecting you. Dear me,” he exclaimed, feigning astonishment as Jennie leaped to her feet and stared down at him openmouthed, “I do believe I have said something to upset you. Is it the thought of our finally acting the part of man and wife that so discommodes you? Or, might I hope, do I misread your agitation? Perhaps, be still my foolish heart, you too wish for this closer association?”

Jennie stomped away from the settee and took up a position nearer the doorway to the foyer. “There are times, my lord, when you can be unbelievably crude,” she said crushingly.

Before Jennie could make good her exit, Kit leaped up from his chair and loped across the room to capture her shoulders in his strong grip. He did not know what imp of mischief had possessed him—surely he had not entered the drawing room with any such thoughts in mind—but suddenly he felt himself overpowered by an undeniable need to feel Jennie’s softly pouting mouth beneath his own.

He told himself he was merely kissing her as a means of shutting her up, but he knew he was lying. The high life he had been living ever since he came to London had included being in the company of many beautiful women—women who neither railed at him nor accused him of every evil under the sun. No, the women he had spent time with were all generous females, giving to a fault—for a price. Yet he had not once sampled their wares, even though his pockets were now well lined enough to set up his own stable of fine fillies. He had flirted, he had teased—but he had not bedded a one of them.

Jennie, her heart fluttering madly, stared up into Kit’s strangely staring face, unable to know what was going on in his mind. If she knew that the thought of a small, blond slip of an unwanted bride had kept her dashing husband celibate she would not have believed it. That was probably why, although he looked about to speak, her husband said nothing. He only continued to stare—taking his own sweet time about it too.

As the tension in the air became nearly thick enough to slice, he acted. Abruptly dragging her soft body up against his lean, hard frame, Kit swooped like a bird of prey and claimed Jennie’s unsuspecting mouth in a nearly ruthless kiss.

The flash of feeling was instant and just as intense as he remembered. Almost at once his lips softened, moving sensuously as they molded themselves to the warm contours of Jennie’s. He felt the heat rising within him as he pressed his body more firmly against her yielding form, and his heart leaped at the very moment he felt the tenseness leave her and her hands begin to inch up to clasp his waist.

As for Jennie, she wasn’t thinking at all. She was leagues past rational thought and had been from the moment she was first rudely captured in Kit’s arms. Try as she might to tell herself it was fear that held her captive, she knew she was only deceiving herself. She wanted Kit to touch her, to kiss her. Perhaps she had subconsciously been hoping for just such a reaction when she had insulted him. This and a lot more she would sit alone in her room and dissect later. Much later. Right now she would give in to the enjoyment of the moment.

But all good things must come to an end, and this interlude was no exception. Why he looked up he did not know; perhaps a noise distracted him—although he found it hard to believe anything could have distracted him, so intense was his concentration on the logistics of transferring their activity from the doorway to the settee—but suddenly his eyes were taking in the sight of a small, mobcapped servant girl surreptitiously crossing the foyer.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, releasing Jennie so abruptly she nearly fell. “That chit’s pregnant!”

Jennie shook her head a time or two, trying hard to bring herself back to reality. “Increasingly,” she corrected at last, striving for a bit of dignity. “Charity—the poor, dear thing—will be presenting us with a little bundle of joy in about a month.”

“In a pig’s eye she will!” the earl countered hotly. “It’s not a home for fallen women I’m running here, damn it all.” All thoughts of shared passion forgotten, Kit rounded on Jennie and ordered coldly, “Get rid of her. Now! Today!”

Her hands planted firmly on her hips, her head and shoulders leaning toward him for emphasis, Jennie responded, “Charity is my choice for tweeny. You said I could have one if I wished. Well, I wish. I shall pay her wages out of my own allowance if necessary, but I promised that child a home, and a home she shall have!”

Kit lifted a hand to his pounding head. “Who’s the father? Do we employ him as well?”

Now Jennie was in her element. “We do not, my lord. The father is a peer of the realm, already married and father to more children than Adam. He seduced poor Charity within a month of her employment in Grosvenor Sq—”

“Spare me his name, infant,” Kit cut in resignedly, “else you may yet tell me it is my duty to call the cad out to avenge the chit.” Reluctantly nodding his head in surrender he sighed, “All right, Jennie. Charity, as they say, begins at home. I guess our home is as good a place as any. But for the sake of our unnamed peer, I suggest you keep Charity abovestairs until after her confinement.”