Be My Lover Page 4

  “I’d heard you’d come back to London,” he said, spitting his words. “Finally had the ballocks to show your face again after what your father did?”

  “Hullo, Abernathy.” Anthony brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from his jacket. “What were you saying?”

  “That your father was a cheat and a thief and a coward! I lost five hundred pounds in that phony investment scheme of his!” Sir Charles Abernathy snarled. “And coward that he was, he shot himself before he was exposed. If you had any sense of honor or balls at all, you would have compensated me for my losses! “

  An angry murmur started around them and a mounting rage burned behind Anthony’s eyes. “Abernathy,” he said evenly, considering if he should withdraw the sword hidden inside his cane and skewer the man on the spot. “Did you call my late father a coward?”

  “Of course he didn’t! Because that would mean he was suicidal, and if he were to die, I’d never collect the money he owes my club.” A cheerful voice rang out and the crowd parted to allow its owner to join them. At six-foot-five, Brandon Hightower, Viscount Pemberton, was possibly the tallest man in London. He was also co-owner of Victoria’s, one of London’s most elegant clubs. There was a year-long waiting list to join and then candidates were only admitted if they met the incredibly high standards Brandon set.

  That Abernathy was a member surprised Anthony, taking the edge off his rage for a moment. “You let Abernathy join Victoria’s?” he asked, being sure disdain colored his words. “What happened? Did Brummell quit?”

  “A singular moment of weakness, I assure you.” Dressed almost to the height of fashion—any closer and one would call him a fop—Brandon glared down at Sir Charles Abernathy. “I’ve a good mind to expel you right now for your bad manners here today, but you do owe me money.”

  The red mottling Abernathy’s face turned purple. “Dyson’s father cheated me—”

  “As I recall, Anthony’s father—who certainly knew something about investing—only mentioned he was planning to invest, which is not the same thing as a suggestion,” Brandon said airily. “You didn’t have to follow his lead. And it’s not the first time you’ve made bad investments, Abernathy. Half of banking London knows you’re a dreadful risk. You’d probably advise a dog to invest in a flea farm. And you are addressing the Duke of Bradford, sir. Show a little respect, if you please.”

  He prodded Abernathy’s chest with a gloved finger and sent the man stumbling backward. “I think you should leave,” Brandon advised. His tone suggested he would brook no argument. So did his scowl. “I’ll send a man around later today with a note of what you owe Victoria’s. Best to settle up your own debts before you start publicly casting stones. You may go.”

  Abernathy seemed to shrink under Brandon’s threat. Muttering, he scuttled away, but at the edge of the crowd he turned and shouted, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Your Grace!”

  He left the yard, still muttering. Slowly conversations began again, the men’s voices rising and falling as they looked at the sheets in their hands.

  Anthony cocked his head at his friend. “Did you think I couldn’t take care of this myself, Brandon?”

  Brandon winked. “I was afraid you might call the bugger out, and then I couldn’t be sure if I’d get the money he owes me. You are, after all, one of the best shots in London. Abernathy would be dead before he hit the ground. But why are we wasting time talking about people not worth talking about? You fellows wouldn’t know of anyone needing to rent a partially furnished house, would you?”

  I’ll need to find a house of my own. Emily’s words echoed in Anthony’s head. “Partially furnished?” he asked. “Where?”

  “Bloomsbury,” Brandon said. “On Pedigo Road just off Great Russell Street. Not the most fashionable of neighborhoods, but the house is quite lovely and Amos Quigley lives next door. It’s certainly big enough for one or two people. At least it would have been if Cupid had not crashed and fallen.”

  Greg winked at Anthony. Brandon had a habit of speaking in riddles. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  Brandon peered at them in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear about the debacle at Saint Bride’s last week? You fellows should really pay more attention to the latest gossip.”

  “I’ve only just returned from Florence,” Anthony reminded him. “But do tell.”

  “We’ll always have you for keeping us up to date,” Greg added.

  “As long as my mother is one of London’s leading hostesses, you will indeed,” Brandon agreed. “It seems that one Edmund Hunt was all set to marry the youngest daughter of Sir James Fortescue, but she left him waiting at the altar! Poor chap was so brokenhearted he’s run off to Greece, vowing he’s going to enter a monastery and swear off women for the rest of this life. He left the house in the hands of a lending agent with orders to rent it out to someone of good quality. Fortescue offered it to me before he left, but I’ve a house already beside the suite at the hotel. Know of anyone?”

  “Bloomsbury, you say?” Anthony repeated, considering. “How large?”

  “Well, the standard receiving rooms, a decent-sized library, modest dining room and four bedrooms upstairs. Nice yard with a back garden.”

  “Have you the name of the lending agent?”

  “Certainly.” Brandon produced a card from inside his jacket and gave it to Anthony.

  “Thank you.” Anthony tucked it into a pocket and turned to the little man who remained on the mounting stump. “I’ll take Goliath. Do have anything suitable for a lady?”

  The man jumped down. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve a lovely chestnut mare, six years old. Lots of spirit, but not wild-like if you know what I mean. Let me show you.”

  A quick inspection of the mare in a nearby paddock and Anthony was the owner of two horses. After arranging for their housing, he turned to his friends. “Will I see you tonight at Lady Featherstock’s?”

  “Oh Lord, are you going to that?” Greg groaned. “Half the mamas in the ton with available daughters will be in attendance. And if they hear you’re going to be there, they’ll all turn up. I think I shall play cards tonight at Victoria’s.”

  “Can’t let you do that, Keller, because I’m counting on you going with me to Featherstocks’,” Brandon said grimly.” I promised my parents I’d at least try to find a bride this Season, and I have to go through the motions so they can’t accuse me of lying to them. You’d think with all my brothers being married and providing half a dozen grandsons, my parents would be satisfied. And you’re a baronet now, so if I’m being made to search for a wife I insist you suffer the same fate. Anthony, shall I send my carriage so you may go with us?”

  Sympathy tugged at Anthony as he recalled Brandon’s own failed engagement to the love of his youth. After her leaving him at the altar ten years ago, Brandon remained a bachelor, vowing to never marry. And while Brandon would probably face the rack rather than admit it, Anthony had no doubt as to his friend’s still-wounded heart.

  “I’ll be arriving on my own, Brandon,” Anthony told them, raising his hat. “With the new owner of the chestnut mare. Until later, gentlemen.”

  And before they could start their forthcoming questions, Anthony bowed and exited the yard.

  * * * * *

  “You have a certain glow about you this morning, Emily,” Jocelyn handed her a coffee cup. “Although paying a call at so early in the morning to most people is hardly the proper thing.” Sun poured into Jocelyn’s sitting room, scattering prisms of color and light over the carpet. Hugh Rolfe had already departed for his offices in the city.

  Emily pointed at the wall clock. “It’s ten o’clock. In Downby, I’d have been up for hours.”

  “But this is London,” Jocelyn yawned, settling into her chair. “Most of the ton is just now crawling out of bed.” She sat up and a conspiratorial grin chased any lingering fatigue from her features. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  “Yes and this morning as well.” Emily hoped he
r matter-of-fact tone would redirect her friend’s questions. Looking down at her dark-green dress, she said, “Thank you for giving me this.”

  “Ha!” Jocelyn leaned forward and pointed at Emily. “You can’t fool me. You and Anthony are lovers, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Emily stared into her coffee cup. “How did you guess?”

  Still grinning, Jocelyn sat back and stretched out her legs, her bare toes wiggling past the edge of her dressing gown. “Number one, because you didn’t come back to the house last night and, number two, as I said, you’re glowing. So, how was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “Oh, don’t be perverse!” Jocelyn scolded. “What was it like being in bed with Anthony?”

  The heat that had become a regular presence since her arrival in London returned to Emily’s face. “I had no idea that such pleasure could be so…so…intense.”

  “Well Anthony didn’t waste any time, I’ll give him that,” Jocelyn said. “You’ve been in London twenty-four hours and he’s already got you in his bed.”

  “I won’t have you thinking Anthony is taking advantage of me,” Emily scolded. “I asked him to be my lover. And can you think of a better way to keep the fortune hunters at bay then by establishing myself as under a duke’s protection?”

  “Short of marrying him, no,” Jocelyn agreed. “Why don’t you marry him, Em? You’d make a splendid couple.”

  “Because I never want to be under a man’s control again, Jocelyn,” Emily said. “Having to ask permission for every little thing, having to pretend I agree with his opinions even if I think they’re stupid. Why should I have to lie to get what I want?”

  “But Anthony isn’t like that,” Jocelyn argued, reaching for the newssheet on the table between them. “He’s one of the most decent and considerate men I know. He would never belittle a woman. Why not marry him?”

  The old sadness gathered around Emily’s heart. “I’m barren, Jocelyn,” she reminded her friend. “If there’s one thing I know about Anthony Dyson, it’s that he wants children. And that’s the one thing I can’t give him. I’ve promised to help him find a good wife, hopefully some pretty young girl from a large family. That would suggest she could be fertile enough to give him several children. And in exchange for helping him find a wife, he’ll act as my protector to keep away the fortune hunters. It makes perfect sense.”

  “Hmmm…” Jocelyn glanced around the newssheet. “Well, all I can say is you better find your own house as soon as possible. That is, unless you plan on staying here.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Listen to this.” Jocelyn unnecessarily cleared her throat. “The ever-popular Lady Felicia Barclay held one of her famous dinner parties last night, an invitation to which is coveted nearly as much as one to Carlton House. To everyone’s surprise and delight, the Duke of Bradford was in attendance, marking his return from Florence. With him was the beautiful Mrs. Emily Martin, a widow also recently arrived in London and who is rumored to have inherited an annuity running to five figures.”

  “Who wrote that?” Emily put aside her cup and reached for the paper.

  “Someone who collects Society news,” Jocelyn said, putting the paper aside. “A day in London and you have a lover and the notice of the ton. Yes, you need a house of your own as soon as possible.”

  “My lady, the Duke of Bradford,” Orlando announced from the door.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Anthony entered with his easy stride. Jocelyn offered him her hand and after taking it and bowing, he did the same to Emily. His gaze roamed over her in an umber-hued study as he raised her hand to his lips.

  “Nice dress,” he murmured.

  “Sit,” she commanded.

  He took his place beside her and accepted the cup Jocelyn offered. “Do you have a riding habit Emily could borrow for a few days, Jocelyn?” he asked. “Just until she gets her own made?”

  “Why would I need a riding habit?” Emily asked.

  “Because that’s what women wear when they go riding,” Anthony quipped. “Excellent coffee, Jocelyn.”

  “You’ve bought her a horse?” Jocelyn accused, the conspiratorial grin returning to her face. “I’m sure that set the tongues at Tattersall’s wagging.”

  Emily smiled as she sipped her coffee. Life was truly becoming most interesting.

  “Well, since I was buying one for myself, I thought I might as well buy two,” Anthony drawled. “Besides, the price was good.” He drained his cup and set it on a nearby table. “Come, Emily. I want to show her to you.” He stood and pulled Emily to her feet.

  Jocelyn gave them a benevolent smile. “I suppose you’ll be traveling to Lady Featherstock’s rout in your own carriage this evening, Anthony?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Anthony said. “Starts at eight o’clock?”

  “Yes and it wouldn’t do to be terribly late,” Jocelyn said, primly. “You know what a stickler she is for guests arriving on time.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” But the devilish sparkle in his eyes set off warning bells in Emily’s head. Anthony Dyson was the Duke of Bradford. He could arrive late for his own funeral and no one would say a word of complaint.

  “Then I’ll be sure to send over more suitable clothing for Emily for the rest of the day and for tonight,” Jocelyn promised. “Just in case she doesn’t get back here in time.”

  Outside in Anthony’s carriage, Emily stared at him. “Did you really buy me a horse or did you just want me all to yourself?”

  “Yes to both.” The glitter in his eyes was almost blinding. “Jocelyn knows we’re lovers, doesn’t she?”

  “She guessed it,” Emily said. “She said I was glowing and that I had better find a house of my own soon, especially since a gossip sheet mentioned us being at Barclay’s last evening.”

  “Well if the ton suspects we’re lovers, they won’t be disappointed. Tell me, Emily. Have you ever made love before noon?”

  An aching desire throbbed between her legs. “No. But I’ve a feeling that’s about to change.”

  The wink he gave her was beyond naughty. “Indeed, my dear. Indeed.”

  Feeling naughty herself, she winked in return. “Well, then. Let the lessons begin.”

  Chapter Five

  “A bath?” Emily stared at the enormous, high-sided porcelain tub. Steam rose from its depths, filling the room with the pleasing and soothing aromas of mint and lemon balm.

  “Well, I didn’t bathe this morning,” Anthony said, slipping an arm around her waist. “If you had, Davis would have told me. So after leaving Tattersall’s, I came here and ordered him to prepare one for us. And I’ve left strict orders we are not to be disturbed unless the hotel catches fire.”

  “What about our going riding?”

  His grin would have done Satan proud. “I had a different kind of riding in mind.”

  “Anthony!” She pinched his arm.

  Laughing, he picked her up, carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed where he quickly rid her of her clothing. “Stand up,” he ordered. “And turn around slowly.”

  She did as he said, relishing the warmth of his gaze traveling over her body. When she faced him again, his expression sent her heartbeat roaring into her ears. Awe covered his face and he ran a finger from where her pulse throbbed under her throat down to her navel.

  “Sweet heaven,” he whispered. “And I thought you were beautiful by candlelight.”

  “May I undress you?” she returned his whisper.

  He tucked a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I’d like that. But if I may offer a suggestion, start with my boots.”

  He sat on the bed and she tugged off the suggested items, followed by his stockings, cravat, his jacket and linen shirt. Her hand hovered over his breeches and, kneeling, she gently put her hand on his member. “Is this what seeing me naked does to it?”

  “Yes,” he sighed, standing. “Now will you please, please remove my breeches?”


  She had them and his drawers off in a flash and he groaned as his cock sprang free from its confinement. “Ahhh…” he sighed again. “That’s better.”

  “It looks angry,” she said, pointing at the quivering organ.

  “It’s because he’s going to have to wait,” Anthony growled. “Davis will have a fit if we let the water get cold and he has to have more brought up. Come.”

  Leading her by the hand, he returned them to the bathroom. The steam was almost gone, but a soothing scent remained. Anthony helped Emily into the tub, then climbed in and sat facing her, stretching out his legs.

  “It’s a very big bathtub, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “I had it custom made.” He took the soap and washcloth from the rack hanging over the side. “So is the soap.”

  He dunked the cloth into the water, wrung it out, and then ran the soap over it. The scent increased and Emily inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful,” she said.

  “Almond oil,” he told her. “Very good for the skin. Here, I’ll show you. “

  He leaned forward and ran the cloth over Emily’s collarbone, working his way over her breasts in a steady, gentle motion, holding one breast while he washed the other. She closed her eyes and her contented breathing filled the room.

  “Do you like that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she purred. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He moved his hand to wash her belly, and then went lower. Without being told, she moved her legs so her knees were up and she was open to him. Carefully, he scrubbed her legs before moving the cloth to massage the curls covering her vulva, maneuvering along her cleft. She gasped and clutched the sides of the tub as he touched the sweet spot before slipping his finger inside her.

  “Ahhh…” She exhaled her pleasure, opened her eyes and smiled. “I think it’s time I washed you, Your Grace.”

  He squinted and pursed his lips as he removed his finger. “Before I wash your back? Inconceivable.”

  Her smile widened. “I think,” she said, drawling her words, “you’re just looking for another chance to touch my tits.”