Page 19 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

“Success! Oh God. It’s happening. How can I wait that long?”

“You must, my darling. As I’m feeling feisty, I may well tease you until then,” she growled, discreetly cupping his backside. “Now, hand me one of those apple tarts. They look awfully good.”

For the rest of the evening, Arabella watched Stanforth like a hawk. While the duke sent a few furtive glances their way, he kept his distance.

She grinned. He probably wouldn’t sleep tonight. Then again, neither would she and Nev.

Tomorrow would change everything.

CHAPTER 5

Humming tunelessly to himself, Neville neatened the rows of dried herb jars and stepped down from his footstool.

This small, fragrant, ground-floor antechamber was where he prepared soothing post-discipline ointments to relax. He wasn’t entirely sure why the methodical process of crushing chamomile or lavender with pestle and mortar then adding just the right amount of boiling water, almond oil, and white wax soothed his senses, but he’d first learned of such processes from his childhood nurse; apparently it was the only time he’d stopped talking.

Book learning had always been a chore and his tutors had despaired of him ever reading and counting as a gentleman should, but he’d scraped by in his studies. In truth, only debating ever held his interest. And asking questions. The fact that Arabella could solve mathematical equations like income and expenditure in mere moments, only added to her allure. He was more than happy for her to have command of his accounts.

Well, command of everything, really.

Few people would truly understand the sentiment, but in surrendering control, he had finally found freedom. From the day Arabella scooped him up, he’d discovered how it felt to be cared for without restraint or condition, to be the man he truly was and revel in that. She didn’t require the most learned husband, the strongest or richest or most blue-blooded. Just her Nev. With Ara at his side he could be a reformer, a philanthropist, a doting uncle…and a gloriously content submissive husband who in a few short hours would be even more content as they played with Stanforth again.

Today had been an agony of anticipation, but at least puttering about with his herbs had helped move the clock forward a little.

“There you are, my darling!”

His head shot up at Arabella’s slightly frazzled tone. “Is something amiss? Oh God…Stanforth hasn’t canceled?”

She took a deep breath. “No, nothing like that. Your mother and sister-in-law are here. They await us in the parlor.”

Neville’s heart sank. He’d always been the black sheep of the family; that had merely intensified when his younger brother Harvey not only wed first but sired Toby prior to Neville meeting Arabella. It was seemingly irrelevant that Harvey had been a useless wastrel his entire life before his untimely demise in a drunken riding accident. That he’d attracted thieves and swindlers like sugar attracted ants. Or that he’d sunk the family into debt with a succession of increasingly outlandish investment schemes that always failed.

No, because Harvey had married Valerie and sired a son, he was the golden child, the revered saint simply led astray by wicked tricksters and villains. His mother forever belabored that point and refused to thank Arabella for paying the debt or funding everything, including Toby’s pending Eton education. All because Ara wasn’t proper.

“Damn it,” Neville said irritably. “Why today? As usual, I offer my humblest, most heartfelt apologies for the nonsense about to ensue.”

Arabella folded her arms. “The well of my patience has run dry with your mother. I have every sympathy for Valerie and Toby’s circumstances; if not for them, I would wash my hands of her entirely.”

As would he. In truth, it was clear that the lad’s endearing, clever nature sprang entirely from Valerie. But his nephew would be a fine baron in due course; Neville had no reservations whatsoever in his heir, and he and Arabella enjoyed lavishing treats on Toby as only an aunt and uncle could. But that devotion didn’t extend to wanting children of his own, no matter what society or the church decreed. It just wasn’t his destiny.

“I know,” he muttered. “Mother is terrible in all ways. But at least we’ve got an excuse for a short visit, an evening out.”

Arabella nodded. “I shall hold tightly to that thought. Now, come along. The sooner we begin, the sooner we can march her out the door.”

Arm in arm, they hurried to the front parlor. Fortunately, it had been cleaned yesterday by the maids and was fresh and sweet-smelling; the carpets and drapes dust-free, cushions plumped, and the fire burning cheerily in the hearth.

One less thing for the dowager to complain about.

“Mother,” Neville said curtly, inclining his head. “Valerie. What an unexpected surprise.”

As usual, the silver-haired dowager baroness disdainfully looked him up and down, then heaved a theatrical sigh before settling herself onto the overstuffed chaise next to her long-suffering daughter-in-law. “Carlisle. Arabella.”

“I’ve ordered a tea tray,” said Arabella as she perched on a high-backed chair, strategically close to the door.

“Thank you,” said brown-haired Valerie as she nervously smoothed her lilac half-mourning gown. “Tea would be lovely.”

“With cakes, one hopes,” added the dowager. “Only commoners serve without.”

“Of course,” Arabella gritted out.