Page 29 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Neville considered. “It is quite impossible to name one thing. The food was goddamned awful, although I gather that has nearly always been the case. All the lessons are taught in Latin rather than English or even French. The school day starts at six in the morning and ends at eight at night with just an hour for play. Boys only leave the place for summer holiday, they even stay there for Christmas. And the older lads are lawless terrors. Power is wielded without mercy…although I suppose that is preparation for the world outside.”

“Oh God,” said Arabella, her expression horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me all these details before?”

“Because being Baron Carlisle’s heir means very little for Toby. It’s a relatively new title and has no great estates or fortune to speak of. But attending Eton will open endless doors and I want the world for him. The fact that he can stroll into school, not as a charity case but a young gentleman with a generous allowance, and has relatives who care enough to send him treat parcels, is the best possible start a lad could have—”

“Is it?” she asked bluntly. “How?”

“Because the future leaders and men of influence will be his peers. His friends. Toby can go further, so much further than me. And when he speaks, perhaps change will happen in weeks or months, not years. He’ll be a success, not a failure…”

When his voice caught, Neville coughed to compose himself. Where the hell had all that come from? Proximity to Berkshire had turned his mind to syllabub. Thankfully Toby hadn’t witnessed any of that; the poor lad would leap onto a mail carriage and stay aboard until he reached Edinburgh. Or further. Dundee. Aberdeen.

“Nev,” said Arabella firmly, “how can you possibly consider yourself a failure? As an uncle, you’ve been an infinitely better father to Toby than Harvey ever was. Toby is fortunate in so much more than my money. He has an example of a good, decent man. A loving man. One with steadfast principles who fights for righteous causes, the downtrodden and the voiceless, and never gives up. That is why he sees you as a hero.”

Neville’s cheeks heated at the lavish compliments. “Best stop, or my puffed-up head won’t fit through the carriage door.”

“I wish you saw yourself how I do. I wish I could show you. Or at least distract you from those burdensome thoughts. But…”

Arabella’s voice trailed off, and he truly understood her perplexed grimace. While he would walk through flames for the attention of her heavenly mouth and exceedingly skilled hands, it somehow felt wrong without Edmund here to join in or be commanded. That was the difference. The duke had become an essential part of their play. An essential part of their lives.

“You soothe my soul, Ara,” he said, leaning forward to take her hand in his. “And you’ve built the platform beneath my feet. If I have achieved anything, it is because of you.”

Her gaze softened, yet before she could speak, his stomach rumbled and she laughed instead. “Goodness me. My poor pet is starving. Allow me to feed you before your entire being is consumed by that cavernous abyss. I am rather enamored of your body.”

Neville chuckled. “As I am of yours. Let’s both eat.”

Arabella began rummaging in the food basket by her feet. “Yes. Because Cook doesn’t trust any inn, shop or pie cart to sustain us properly, we have fresh buttered bread, a few raisin pastries, apple tarts…oh yes, and some sugar-dusted cinnamon wafers because I begged Katie Whitmore’s cook to give me her recipe. They are perhaps the most delicious sweet I’ve ever tasted. Also a flask of lemonade. Plus one of…good grief, what is this?”

Neville shuddered at the ghastly sight of the mottled reddish orange cordial. “I believe Cook is trying to guard us against future winter ills. That looks like a tonic with castor oil, carrot, beetroot, and lemon.”

“Edmund would know. The poor man has probably consumed every tonic under the sun. I know he hasn’t said too much about his marriage, but what he endured before conceiving his heir was terrible. It seems whether you want children or don’t want them, there are trials to endure.”

He nodded as he downed a chunk of soft buttered bread followed by several of the scrumptious wafers. Unwrapping the duke was like unwrapping a parcel with sixty-five layers. He was so guarded about his past; entirely understandable considering his frightful upbringing. In truth, the more he learned, the more Neville was ashamed of the assumptions he’d made about Edmund. Power and position certainly hadn’t protected him from pain. “I wonder what he is doing right now.”

“As long as he’s not bedding someone else or breaking the law, I really don’t mind,” said Arabella as she finished a second raisin pastry then dabbed at her lips with a linen napkin. “Speaking of bedding…”

His ears pricked up. “Yes? Pray continue, my lovely, beautiful, talented, splendid wife.”

She snorted. “At ease, soldier. I was pondering what acts we might try in future if Edmund wishes to continue as a trio. Obviously, binding his wrists, he seems to enjoy that. Or making him touch himself. One thing I would like to attempt with you both is Edmund fucking my arse while you fuck his. What do you think?”

Neville groaned. “Arabella Laurel Carlisle, you simply cannot say ‘at ease, soldier,’ then follow it with exceedingly erotic suggestions. Have a care for my trouser fall.”

His wicked wife batted her lashes as she reached for the small box of comfits in the food basket, before popping one of the mint-flavored sweets into her mouth. “But what do you think? Would Edmund want that?”

“I hope so. And a whole lot more. I just want to fuck him and hug him and make him laugh. Forever.”

She hesitated. “Forever?”

Oh God. He’d let his tongue run away from him. But there was no plausible way to walk those words back. He needed to stand behind them. “Only once before in my life have I fallen so fast and hard. When a certain Miss Ferndale hoisted me over her shoulder and dragged me back to her lair. I was helpless in the face of her magnificent br—”

“Breasts?”

“Brain,” he continued smugly, only wincing a little when Arabella kicked his shin. “But now Edmund is in my heart, too. Just as he’s burrowed into yours.”

Arabella nodded slowly. “I sent a note before we left, saying we would call this evening. We have a lot to talk about. Everyone must have their needs met, and I suspect it won’t be easy extracting information from a man well used to hiding or suppressing it.”

“And this is the first time Edmund has lovers who truly care about him in bed and out. Who want him to be happy. He was scarred by his marriage, it’s not undying love that stopped him remarrying or taking a mistress.”

His baroness grimaced. “The ton does enjoy romanticizing past nonsense. In the meantime…brace yourself, my darling, the carriage has just turned onto Eton Road.”