The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

Chapter Two

Gifford Myles Newell, younger son of the Earl of Fensworth, watched his best friend’s sister walk gracefully out of the room. Just when had she changed from a bubbly, vivacious little girl into this stunning beauty?

A beauty, he had to admit, who raised most unbrotherly feelings in him. Sighing, he fought to suppress the arousal she seemed always to spark in him of late.

Unfortunately, one could not seduce the virginal sister of one’s best friend, no matter how much her face and voluptuous figure reminded one of the most irresistible of Cyprians. And though she made an interesting and amusing companion—one never knew what she would say or do next, except one could count on it not being conventional—when he married, he would need a mature, elegant, serene lady to manage his household and preside with tact and diplomacy over the political dinners at which so much of the business of government was conducted. Not a hoyden who blurted out whatever she was thinking, heedless of the consequences.

Sadly, when he did marry, he’d probably have to give up the association that had enlivened his life since the day he’d met her when she was six. He chuckled, remembering the rock she’d tossed and he’d had to duck as he entered the back garden at Brook Street, her explaining as she apologised that she’d thought he was the bad man who’d just made her mama cry.

Her body might be the stuff of a man’s erotic dreams, but she was still very much that impulsive, tempestuous child. A mature, elegant, serene wife would be a useful addition to his Parliamentary career, but he would miss the rough-and-tumble exchange of ideas, the sheer delight of talking with Temperance, never knowing where her lively mind or her unexpected reactions would take one next.

He wished the man who did end up wedding her good luck trying to control that fireball of uninhibited energy! Regardless of her childish protests that she never intended to marry, she almost inevitably would. There was no other occupation available for a gently bred female and he sincerely doubted her father, Lord Vraux, would release her dowry so his daughter could go trekking about the world, alone. How would she support herself, if she didn’t marry?

She was too outspoken to become anyone’s paid companion and no wife with eyes in her head would engage a woman who looked like Temperance Lattimar to instruct her children, unless her sons were very young and her husband a diplomat permanently posted at the back of beyond.

Fortunately, figuring out how to control Temperance Lattimar wouldn’t be his problem. Until the day some other poor man assumed that responsibility—or until he bowed to the inevitable, gave in to his mother’s ceaseless haranguing and found a wealthy wife to remove the burden of his upkeep from the family finances—he would simply enjoy the novelty of her company.

And keep his attraction to her firmly under control.

He looked up to find both Christopher and Gregory staring at him. Feeling his face heat, he said, ‘She’s still as much a handful as she was at six, isn’t she?’

Gregory and Christopher both sighed. ‘Pru will do what she must to fit in, but I’m uneasy about Temper,’ Christopher said. ‘That’s one female who should have been born a man.’

Suppressing his body’s instinctive protest at that heresy, Gifford said, ‘I would love to see her on the floor of the house, ripping into the Tories who natter on about how disruptive to Caribbean commerce a slavery ban would be.’

‘She would be magnificent,’ Christopher agreed. ‘But since female suffrage is unlikely to occur in her lifetime, we had better be thinking of some other options. I don’t think she’s going to have much luck squeezing any money out of Vraux.’

Knowing how much tension existed between Christopher and the legal, if not biological, father who had ignored him all his life, Gifford said, ‘Probably not. But I’d love to be the parlour maid dusting outside the library door when she tries to talk him into letting her equip a caravan to journey to the pyramids!’

* * *

As it turned out, Christopher had left, but Gifford was just striding down the hallway towards the front door when Temper, with an exasperated expression, descended the stairs from the library that was Lord Vraux’s private domain.

‘I take it the response wasn’t positive.’

She let out a frustrated huff. ‘As I feared, he barely noticed I’d entered the room. You know how he is when he’s in the midst of cataloguing his latest acquisitions! I stationed myself right in front of him and waved my hands until he finally looked at me, with that little frown he has when he’s interrupted. In any event, he listened in silence and then motioned me away.’

Gifford knew from Gregory’s descriptions how averse the baron was to being touched. Still, it must hurt his children that their father seemed unable to give—or receive—any sign of affection.

‘Did he say...anything? Or just go back to cataloguing?’

She shook her head in disgust. ‘He said I needed to have a Season so I could “get married and be protected”. That women need to be protected. I couldn’t help myself—I had to ask if that was why he’d married Mama. But he didn’t respond, just returned his attention to the display table and picked up the next dagger.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Rather made me wish I could have picked up a dagger!’

Despite the baron’s staggering wealth, which meant Gregory had never, as Giff had when they were at school together, gone hungry or had to get his clothes patched instead of ordering new ones, Gifford had always felt sorry for the Lattimar children. Possessed of a mother who, though loving, had made herself such a byword that her daughters’ acceptance in society had been compromised, and a father who acted as if they didn’t exist.

‘I’m glad you didn’t grab a dagger,’ he said lightly, trying to ease her disappointment. ‘The news that you’d stabbed your father, coming on top of the scandal of the duel, would further complicate your debut.’

She gave a wry chuckle. ‘Thank you, Giff, for trying to cheer me up. I guess I shall be cursed with a Season after all. But I can’t bear thinking about it right now, so please don’t summon Gregory and call another strategy session just yet.’

She heaved another sigh. ‘I’d rather have a shot of Gregory’s brandy, but I’ll settle for tea. Won’t you take some with me?’ she asked, waving him back towards the parlour. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk with you since you took up your seat in Parliament.’

When had he ever been able to turn her down? Curiosity over what she might say always lured him in—as it did now, despite his unease over the physical response she sparked in him. ‘I suppose I can spare a few more minutes.’

‘Giff, a serious, sober parliamentarian,’ she said in wondering tones as, after snagging a footman to send for tea, she led him back to the parlour. ‘That’s a notion that takes some getting used to! Wasn’t it just last year that seeing you at this time of the morning would have meant you and Gregory were returning from your night’s revels?’

Laughing, she gazed up at him, her glorious eyes teasing, her smiling mouth an invitation to dalliance. Sucking in a quick breath, he slammed his eyes shut. This is your friend’s little sister. You can’t let yourself think this way about her.

Maybe it would help if he didn’t look right at her. Or sit close enough to smell the subtle jasmine scent that surrounded her, whispering of sultry climes and sin.

Seating himself a safe distance away, he protested, ‘Not last year!’

‘Well, maybe the year before. Gregory was just turned five-and-twenty when he inadvertently discovered what a muddle the estate books at Entremer were in and decided the heir must sort things out, since Papa obviously had little interest in doing so.’

‘And you must admit, he’s done an admirable job.’

‘Who would have thought it? His most admirable achievement up to that point had been drinking three bottles of port in a night between entertaining three ladies. While in your company, as I remember, although he didn’t divulge your totals.’

‘How did you—?’ Giff sputtered, feeling his face heat.

Temperance chuckled. ‘Greg and Giff, what a pair, the two of you! When you staggered into our front hallway at eight in the morning, singing ribald songs, Gregory boasting of his prowess at the top of his lungs... In euphemisms, of course, but Pru and I knew very well what he was referring to.’

‘Sometimes you girls are too perceptive,’ Giff muttered.

‘If we learned at an early age about dealings virginal maidens should have no knowledge of, that wasn’t exactly our fault, was it?’ she argued, an edge in her voice.

The footman returned with the tea tray and, for a moment, conversation ceased while she poured. Once they both had a cup of the steaming brew, she continued, ‘I must say, I was rather surprised when Gregory told us you’d decided to stand for Parliament.’

‘Young men must sow their wild oats, I suppose, but eventually one must consider how one intends to make his mark on the world. Especially we younger sons, who can’t look forward to having an estate to run.’ Especially younger sons who’ve been virtually shut out by their family, all the attention of father and mother lavished on the son who would inherit, he added silently, feeling a familiar slash of pain at that stark reality.

‘Joining the Reform politicians is a choice I can admire! Are you finding the workings of Parliament as stimulating as you’d hoped?’

Gratification at her praise distracted him from both his pain and the smouldering anger her unfortunate situation so often sparked in him. Honest, direct and highly intelligent, Temper never flattered, and offered praise sparingly. Despite her youth, of all the females of his acquaintance, she was probably the one whose approval meant the most to him.

‘I have to admit, I was dubious when Gregory and Christopher first urged me, but...it is stimulating.’

‘You’ve found your calling, then.’

He smiled. ‘I think I have. To stand on the floor of the House and realise that what you do there, calling for an end to slavery or for restricting the employment of children in factories, will better the lives of thousands, here and across England’s possessions! It’s both humbling and thrilling. Even if change doesn’t go as far or happen as quickly as we’d like.’

‘Yes, Christopher tells me that it will be difficult enough to hammer through the right of all men to vote, that I shouldn’t look to see suffrage extended to women any time soon. Unless “women” are added as a class in the bill to end slavery,’ she quipped.

He laughed, as he knew she intended him to. ‘I’ll grant you that married women are...economically disadvantaged. Although their circumstances are not nearly as dire, men with no control over fortune are restricted, too.’

‘Your mama has been harassing you about money again?’

Surprised, he forgot his caution and looked at her. Luscious, lovely—and so perceptive. Looking quickly away, before her beauty could wind its seductive tendrils around his susceptible body, he quoted wryly, ‘“I thought a younger son debauching himself in the capital was expensive enough, but having one in Parliament has turned out to be even more costly”.’

‘Surely your mama realises you cannot sway the opinions of the brokers of power in a twice-turned coat and cracked boots. And from Christopher’s experience, I know even bachelor members of Parliament must sometimes play host to entertainments at the inns or clubs where so many of the compromises are hammered out.’

Damping down his embarrassment that Temper had noticed how shabby his attire had sometimes become, when his quarter-day allowance came late—or not at all—Giff said, ‘Quite true. Being a member of Lyndlington’s “Hadley’s Hellions” group, Christopher had the benefit of being included in the dinners Giles and Maggie gave. Alas, I have no such close connections to a political hostess.’

‘Which is why your mama keeps pestering you to marry one. Or at least a girl with money.’ His surprise must have shown on his face, for Temper said, ‘She’s bound to be wanting you to marry wealth—if only to remove the strain of your upkeep from the family purse. Although she may also want some grandchildren to dandle on her knee.’

Gifford tried to imagine such a picture and couldn’t. Mama might be interested in the heir’s children—but never his. ‘I doubt that. She’d rather be rid of my expense so she can hang new reticules on her wrist and put more expensive gowns on her back!’

‘I may occasionally be angry with Mama, but at least I know, infamous as she is, she loves us.’

Lady Vraux might be a fond mama, but the scandalous behaviour of her earlier years had caused irrevocable harm to her daughters. Gifford had trouble forgiving her for that sin.

‘Even if I’m plagued with a Season,’ Temper had continued, ‘it’s unlikely I’ll become bosom friends with any pure young maidens. Watchful mamas will probably warn their girls to avoid me like a medieval scourge, lest a daughter’s reputation become contaminated by mine. Are there any rich young ladies who have caught your eye?’

‘Since, despite Mama’s continual urging, I’m not yet ready to make the plunge into matrimony, I avoid gatherings where females of that ilk may be lurking.’ He laughed. ‘Not that I would be accounted a prime catch by any means.’

‘Oh, I don’t know! You’re handsome, intelligent, well spoken, principled and from an excellent old family. All you lack is fortune and, for a girl with a large dowry, that would hardly be an impediment. If you’re not ready to marry, you’re probably wise to avoid places where some determined young miss might try to entrap you.’ She grinned. ‘Besides, though you may not be as...flagrant about your pursuits as in years past, I know for certain that when it comes to feminine company, you and Gregory still prefer ladies of easy virtue.’

‘You really do have no maidenly modesty, do you?’ he asked, half-amused, half-exasperated by her plain speaking.

‘Growing up in this household? I would have to be blind and dumb to have attained my advanced age still retaining any. So, no gently born young ladies of interest at the moment. Should you like me to be on the lookout for likely prospects, if I manage to get invited to entertainments where virtuous young maidens gather?’

‘Are you going to join my mother in haranguing? Not very sporting, when you profess yourself so opposed to marriage.’

‘Not haranguing and our cases are quite different. As long as I can convince Papa to allow me some wealth of my own, marriage offers me no advantages. Whereas, for you, gaining a wealthy bride whose funds would free you from depending on the pittance your family grudgingly doles out would make your job in Parliament easier. Obtaining a hostess like Maggie, who is intelligent, charming and interested in politics, would be even more beneficial.’

The wives of Christopher and his friends were admirable, the couples did seem happy in their unions, and everything she said about ending his money worries and having a capable hostess was true. ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m not ready to acquire the advantages of marriage yet.’

‘Not ready to give up your ladies, you mean.’

‘Let’s return to your situation,’ he said, having heard enough remarks about his predilection for the muslin company. ‘I meant what I said about asking Lady Sayleford if she would sponsor you. She’s truly as redoubtable as her reputation claims. If you must have a Season to bring your father around, she would be the best candidate to sponsor you. Anything I can do to help, you know I will, Temper.’

The amusement fled from her face, replaced by a sad little smile that touched his heart. ‘I know, Giff. You’ve been good friend to all of us for as long as I can remember and I do thank you for it,’ she said, reaching over to pat his hand.

It was meant to be a casual, friendly gesture. But her light touch resonated through his body with the impact of a passionate kiss. And produced the same result.

He froze, fighting the reaction. Unfortunately, Temper stilled as well, staring at her hand resting on his, her expression startled and uncertain.

And then, rosy colour suffusing her face, she snatched her hand back. ‘Yes, ah, that would be, um, quite... I mean, if I must have a Season, I would appreciate your approaching Lady Sayleford.’

Her voice sounded as odd as her disjointed words. Which must mean that the touch that paralysed him had affected her, too. He wasn’t sure whether to be satisfied or alarmed by the fact.

Maybe it was time to leave, before the randy part of him urged him to further explore that intriguing possibility. Setting down his teacup with a clatter, he said, ‘I must be off. Shall I call on my godmother and see what I can arrange?’

If the moment had been as intense for her, it had passed, for the look she angled up at him was all laughing, mischievous child again. ‘Yes, I suppose you must. Imagine—Temperance Lattimar gowned in white, making her debut among the virtuous maidens! That would set the cat among the pigeons, don’t you think?’

‘It should certainly be...interesting,’ he allowed. ‘I’ll call again later after I’ve had a chance to chat with her. Thank you for tea and goodbye, Temper.’

‘Goodbye, Giff.’ She held out her hand to shake goodbye—as they had countless times before—and must have thought better of it, for she hastily retracted it. Not that he would have been foolish enough, after his disturbingly strong reaction to her previous touch, to offer her his hand.

No matter how much he’d like to touch that...and more.

Irritated by the simmer of attraction he was having such a hard time suppressing, Gifford strode out of the room. Trotting down the entry steps of Vraux House after the butler closed the door behind him, he blew out a breath.

He’d been sincere when he assured Temperance that he’d do whatever he could to help her. He truly wanted the best for her. But the attraction she exerted on him seemed to only be growing and doing this service meant he’d likely be seeing her more often than the occasional meeting when he dropped by to visit Gregory.

The prospect of seeing more of Temperance Lattimar was both alluring...and alarming.

Chapter Three

After watching Gifford Newell walk out, Temperance sat back on the sofa and poured herself another cup of tea.

Was she wise to let Giff help her? All she’d done was pat his hand and—oh, my! The bolt of attraction was so strong she’d been immobilised by it. So much that she forgot where she was and what she was doing, her brain wiped free of every thought except the wonder of what it might feel like to kiss him.

She didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of ignoring the attraction. Perhaps she ought to regretfully acknowledge that a complication had arisen in what had previously been a carefree, straightforward friendship, and be on guard against it.

The last thing she should do was allow curiosity to lure her into exploring where those impulses might lead.

And then she had to laugh. It was highly unlikely that handsome, commanding, virile Gifford Newell, who probably had never seen her as anything but his best friend’s troublesome little sister, would be interested in pursuing such feelings with her—even though she was quite certain he had felt the explosive force of that touch. Not when he already had long-standing and mutually satisfactory relations with ladies far more practised and alluring than she was.

Which was just as well. It would be unfair to invite him down a pathway she already knew she could never follow to its ultimate end. The mere thought of what that would entail sent a shudder of distaste through her.

Still, despite the uncomfortable, edgy feelings he roused in her, she enjoyed his company and counted him as one of the few people whose honesty and dependability she could count on. Though in the past he’d often exasperated her with his teasing, as she grew older, he’d begun to listen to her with an appreciation and understanding exceeded only by her sister’s. She simply refused to give in and let this...irrational attraction she didn’t seem able to suppress spoil a friendship she valued so dearly.

If she were forced to have a Season—and she didn’t see how she was going to avoid it, however unpleasant the prospect—she really would prefer to get it over with. She’d vowed, when she turned fifteen and first discovered the implications of her close resemblance to her mother, never to let anyone see how much the censure and unearned criticism hurt. No, she intended to meet society’s scorn with a public show of defiance—and weather it privately with fortitude. Though occasionally—if anger got the better of her, which it well might—she might be goaded into doing something truly outrageous, just to live down to society’s expectations of her.

The delight of doing that wouldn’t make enduring the rest of the ordeal any less unpleasant.

It really would be helpful to have Lady Sayleford guarding her back. Assuming, after meeting her and listening to Temper’s frank avowal of how she intended to behave, that lady was willing to take her on.

Doing so, though, would mean having Gifford Newell act as her intermediary.

It wouldn’t necessarily mean they’d see each other much more often than they did now, aside from the initial interview with Lady Sayleford, she reasoned. He’d just emphatically reaffirmed what she already knew—that, as he wasn’t ready to take a wife, he had no intention of frequenting the sort of Marriage Mart entertainments she would be forced to endure. He would simply turn her over to his godmother and go back to his own pursuits.

She couldn’t suppress a little sigh of regret. Despite the recent complication in their relationship, she knew with Gifford nearby, she would be safe—protected from the worst of the insults and scorn of those who disapproved of her and from any men who might seek to take advantage. And she truly would enjoy witnessing his reaction to all the Marriage Mart manoeuvring.

But since it was highly unlikely he would attend any of the entertainments she would be dragged to, she’d better work up the courage to face all those threats alone. After all, when Pru married, as she certainly would—what intelligent man could resist her darling sister?—Temper truly would be alone. Permanently.

For the first time, Temper faced that bleak prospect, not as some distant spectre, but as an event that would likely happen soon. She had to put a hand to her stomach to still the wave of bleakness and dismay that swept through her.

Wasn’t gaining her independence what she wanted, though? She tried to rally herself. She’d still have Gregory and Christopher, Gifford’s special friendship and could look forward to playing the proud aunt to Pru’s eventual children. Doubtless somewhere in her family tree she could find some indigent female relation who would prove both congenial and willing to live with her.