Page 32 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Edmund braced his hands on the parlor window and gazed out onto St. James’s Square. This view was peaceful—the other side of Stanforth House looked over bustling Pall Mall, and past that, the Prince Regent’s overblown Carlton House—but if he looked out here, he could just see an expanse of green lawn and trees and shrubbery. If he closed one eye and tilted his head, he could almost pretend he was in the country.

He truly needed a moment alone after a frantic morning. At breakfast, he’d received a short note from Arabella, requesting an audience for her and Nev this evening. But he’d been unable to concentrate on that mind-whirling news, for less than an hour later, Sir Kenneth had arrived on his doorstep, a determined expression on his face and a ring in his pocket, asking to speak to Cressida.

Edmund smiled at the memory. The man had certainly wasted no time at all in proposing to her, and his daughter’s shriek had almost lifted the roof. But the way she had hurled herself into the politician’s arms, the way Sir Kenneth had grinned and twirled her around…that had been lump-in-the-throat special. This was how a betrothal should be: lots of laughter and cheers and excitement for the future.

Of course they’d then opened bottles of champagne and brandy to toast, and both Sir Kenneth and Cressida’s voices had wobbled with emotion as they bantered and jested. After that, Cressida had insisted on sharing the news with all the servants in Edmund’s employ, so he’d ordered even more bottles from the cellar so everyone could have a glass. There was now an air of merriment throughout the townhouse as Cressida’s admittedly lovely diamond-and-pearl betrothal ring was examined and exclaimed over.

But now Cressida and Sir Kenneth had departed in the politician’s carriage to share the news with his family, their closest friends, and members of his party, and Edmund was alone with his thoughts. A dangerous enterprise.

The discreet throat-clearing behind him almost sent Edmund crashing head-first through the window. He turned around to see Yates, his secretary. “Good God, man, do I need to put a bell around your neck?”

Yates chuckled. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I think you were very deep in thought after earlier events. But I wanted to confirm: Sir Kenneth has requested a formal meeting to discuss terms later this week. Is that acceptable?”

“I’ll make myself available,” said Edmund. “And you did send some extra funds to Denby? Would hate to think the boy was going hungry due to Eton slop.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I had two footmen ride to Eton. In regard to the wedding, I expect there will be a lot to plan. Is Lady Cressida thinking St. George’s? Or Westminster perhaps? I shall make enquiries about available dates and the reading of the banns. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Edmund waved absently as his secretary departed. Yes, there would indeed be much to plan for the wedding, but now his thoughts had abruptly turned to his heir. Would some distance between them perhaps soften his son’s heart? Could they start again and rebuild something much better without Cressida as some sort of translator or emissary?

It was so very strange, but the time spent with Arabella and Nev had changed him in many ways other than sexual. Finally it seemed like he could see good in the world. Feel joy. Have some fun. His father and grandfather had actually been rigid and icy and proper, but Edmund could no longer play that role. It wasn’t him, and the falseness of it was distasteful, a vise crushing him. He wanted freedom. Companionship. Love. And yes, passion. With Arabella and Nev.

Waiting for them to arrive was truly torturous. The note had indicated early evening after they completed a brief jaunt out of London, but that could be anytime, really. And depending on what they had to say, it could either remain one of the happiest days of his life, or take a turn for the worst. Was there any chance they wanted him as much as he wanted them? And not just an affair…but forever?

Naturally, there was much to discuss, but it just felt so right being with them both.

Edmund sighed. He desperately needed to distract himself, but there was simply no way he could concentrate on documents. Or reading. And while visiting one of his St. James’s Square neighbors, perhaps Norfolk at number 31, or the Castlereaghs at number 18 held appeal, it would be devastating to not be here when the Carlisles arrived.

Damnation. He was on the verge of losing his mind.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace, but you have a visitor.”

Somehow he suppressed a woeful yelp at being startled a second time. Yet as the footman’s words sank in, Edmund’s heart leaped in an uncomfortable blend of anticipation and anxiety. Arabella and Nev were here!

After gathering his composure, he smiled briefly at the footman. “Thank you, send them in.”

However, as soon as he’d given the instruction, his confidence failed him. Should he stand? Sit? Was he wearing the most appropriate clothing or should he have changed? Would the drawing room be a more suitable location? On the leather armchairs in front of the fire in his bedchamber? Was it too early or too late for refreshments? Both Arabella and Nev had a sweet tooth, perhaps he should order cakes and pastries…

“Good afternoon, Stanforth.”

Utterly confused and equally annoyed, he frowned and glanced toward the parlor door. What the bloody hell was Sylvia doing here? And why did she look so unusually cheerful, dressed in a pink gown? Most of the time his sister-in-law wore gray and possessed the long-suffering, put-upon air of a puritan ordered to speak to a sinner. “Sylvia. This is a surprise. I’m actually expecting guests. Is something amiss?”

The blond woman giggled as she hurried to him. “I just heard the momentous news. It’s all anyone is talking about in town. Cressida betrothed to Sir Kenneth Lochore!”

Edmund relaxed a little. “Indeed, it is wonderful. I think they will be a splendid match—”

“Naughty man, teasing me so,” said Sylvia, actually rapping his wrist with her fan as she batted her pale lashes. “I will admit to a certain disappointment that you did not send a note arranging a private rendezvous immediately. But I’m here now, and all will be well.”

His shoulders tightened to the point they could be used to prop up a building. A private rendezvous? Damnation. There was nothing vague about that, she’d gone far beyond the pale. “Teasing? I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied curtly.

Sylvia shivered. “Oh, I see, you are going to make me say it. How masterfully, how cruelly you wield your power over a lady’s heart, my dear duke! Very well. Denby is now at Eton. Cressida is betrothed and will soon be gone from this house. We can finally be lovers as we always hoped and wished!”

Christ.

Edmund could only stare, unable to articulate the revulsion currently churning his stomach. Bed Sylvia? His late wife’s sister? He would ride naked through Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens holding flaming torches to his groin before that would occur. Such a desire had not even floated in his mind. Not to mention that the only people in London he wished to pleasure and be pleasured by were Arabella and Nev. They understood him. They recognized his sexual needs and met them in extraordinary ways. They cared about him. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with his title or his money.

“No,” he said bluntly.

She stared at him, clearly confused. “Excuse me?”