The Redemption of Lord Rawlings Page 16

  She was about to respond when his hands hovered near her breasts, and with a laugh, he kissed her cheek and walked to the door.

  Still stunned and looking like she had been engaging in illicit activities, Abigail squealed and jumped under the covers. To have Sebastian barge in on her sleeping was one thing, but for him to see her in her current state was beyond mortifying.

  Rawlings, ever the gentlemen, only opened the door wide enough to escape before he closed it again and argued with Sebastian out in the hall.

  She heard no gunshots. Assuming he was fine, she allowed herself to relax and began planning for the wedding.

  ****

  “It boggles the mind that you were able to keep your hands off Emma as long as you did,” Phillip muttered once Sebastian had calmed down enough to speak like a normal human being.

  “Yes, well.” Sebastian smirked as if to hide some sort of secret. “It wasn’t without want for trying, I will tell you that much.”

  “You sly fox!”

  “Yes, I’ve been called that before too.”

  Phillip took another sip of ale and looked around the room full of gentleman. Both men had decided to retire to Whites for a few drinks after they obtained the special license needed. It had been a long day. After Phillip had visited Abigail, he and Sebastian had returned to Phillip’s home only to find out the one servant in his employ whom he didn’t trust, had fled the house.

  And with him the only true information as to why Whitmore had decided to steal the note. Which is exactly what had happened. He had given a generous sum to the remaining footman in hope of ruining Phillip further.

  They just weren’t aware why Whitmore would go to such extremes. He was after all, titled and wealthy beyond reason.

  Which was why they were sitting and drinking. Well, the actual reason was twofold. One, they were exhausted and the women were most likely twittering about, trying to make arrangements for the wedding. And two, they were waiting for Whitmore to make an appearance. In fact they hoped for it, as they had no other lead.

  “Have you decided where you will live?” Sebastian asked an hour later as they finished their third pint of ale.

  Phillip grinned. “Why yes, I thought living down the street from you sounded pleasant enough. I also had half a mind to go to the estate in Essex. It is after all very familiar to Abby.”

  “Perhaps we shall visit you.” Sebastian grinned. “As you know Emma is increasing and will be nearing her confinement soon.”

  “Why does it feel as if you are asking to visit so nerves don’t overtake you, old man?”

  Sebastian cursed. “Just don’t tell Emma—or Nicholas, for that matter. He’s been through how many births with his wife? And he still gets foxed every time. He would love nothing more than to bring another one of us down with him.”

  “Be that as it may, I find myself in a predicament. Throw you to the wolves, otherwise known as Lord Renwick and her grace, or keep my silence. I say, what will you do for me?”

  “Shoot Whitmore?”

  “You, dear sir, have a deal.” Phillip reached over and took Sebastian’s hand in a firm shake just as the doors to Whites opened, revealing a very panic-stricken and foxed Whitmore.

  Phillip made a move, but Sebastian held him back. “Wait, Phillip. Let us see what business he has here first.”

  They sat in relative silence. Watching as the Marquess made his way from table to table talking loudly of his latest mistress.

  Phillip was momentarily ill as he wondered if he was ever as bad as Whitmore or worse. The clenching in his stomach confirmed his suspicions. Thank God for Abigail.

  The jolly atmosphere in the room shifted the moment Whitmore set his eyes on Sebastian and Phillip.

  “Do join us, Whitmore.” Phillip kicked the chair toward the marquess and glared. Had he not been in a similar predicament many months back when Sebastian and Nicholas came to call concerning Emma? It seemed years ago, for he didn’t even recognize that man anymore. The type of man who was now looking back at him through Whitmore’s eyes resembled a weak man full of fear, anger, and bitterness.

  “I know why you wish to speak with me, so let us get on with it, shall we?” Whitmore spat.

  Phillip smirked. “Ah, intelligence becomes you, Whitmore.”

  Sebastian laughed and nodded toward the door where a few of his waiting footman took their stance. One thing was for certain, Whitmore wasn’t going to be escaping anytime soon.

  “I take it you’re here about some piece of correspondence that somehow went missing after your departure, Rawlings?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I haven’t got it.”

  Phillip cursed. “Which tells me you didn’t even read it. If you had, you would know I don’t have any sort of use for the note other than explaining my feelings to the woman I love. That being said, what I don’t understand is why you felt the need to pay off one of my servants in order to obtain it when you yourself admit to not reading it or needing it for personal gain.”

  “You cast yourself as some sort of admirable man, Rawlings. I do wonder what the future Lady Rawlings would say about all those nasty rumors running rampant throughout the ton about your indiscretions.”

  “Ah, blackmail. Lovely,” Sebastian interjected. “Whitmore, what do you have to gain?”

  Whitmore was silent a moment. Beneath his calm façade, Rawlings saw something he hadn’t expected. Despair.

  “You speak harshly of me, Tempest, and, Rawlings, I hardly know whether you should be one to pass judgment, but if you must know—I’m in love.”

  Phillips jaw dropped in astonishment. “You do mean with yourself? Correct me if I’m wrong, but Lady Rosalind hasn’t exactly been—”

  “Not with Lady Rosalind, you fool!”

  “Your mistress then?”

  Whitmore clenched his teeth as he spoke. “Do not speak of her in that way.”

  The night was quickly turning into something frightening. The day that Whitmore fell in love was surely a day Phillip never saw coming.

  “So,” Sebastian began, “are we safe to assume that this little bribery was done in the name of love?”

  “You are correct.” Whitmore threw back the contents of his ale and motioned for another.

  Phillip smirked. “Impossible. Why would any one of the women you frequent wish to keep me from marrying? Or worse, wish to ruin my reputation for good? There isn’t a soul that hates me as much as that, not even—”

  Whitmore went pale.

  “You rogue!” Phillip grabbed Whitmore by his coat and threw his head into the table. Blood poured from his nose as Phillip, with another string of curses, kicked Whitmore in the stomach before Sebastian pulled him away.

  “What has come over you?”

  “My stepmother!” Phillip pointed. “That—that vile cur has been sleeping with my stepmother!”

  Sebastian looked down at the bloody mess that was Whitmore. “Oh, pray continue.”

  “My thanks.” Phillip lunged for the man, but not before he was pulled off him again, but this time by a near giant.

  “That will be enough,” the bronze man said.

  Phillip couldn’t see his face, it was covered with so much hair and was so tanned he wasn’t sure if the man was alive or a figment of his overactive imagination.

  “He will receive his due in time, Lord Rawlings. For now, why don’t you and the duke see to wedding arrangements? I hear felicitations are in order. Off with you now!” The man's accent was odd, not completely English. Phillip took another look at Whitmore then at the man standing in front of him and nodded.

  He and Sebastian left to the sound of whisperings and laughing behind them. Just one more scandal to tack to the Rawlings’ name. At least Abigail knew what she was getting into before she said yes.

  Chapter Twenty

  The gossip surrounding Lord Rawlings has done him a gross injustice, and it seems I have been at the peak of it. For that I apologize and happily move on to my
next target. With venom in my quill, I announce that the Marquess of Whitmore is a despicable human being. To cheat on ones fiancée in front of the ton is one thing, but to do so with a friend's mother? Well, let it be said, the lowest circles of hell are held for those who betray their friends. The marquess should find a warm welcome when he visits the fiery inferno, which I hear will be quite soon if Lord Rawlings has anything to say about it.

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  The carriage ride was silent, as they returned to the Tempest home.

  “My stepmother?” Phillip broke the silence.

  Sebastian laughed. “Yes well, can’t say I saw that one coming.” He sobered for a minute. “Phillip, what do you intend to do with your stepmother? You haven’t yet confronted her.”

  “Oh, that.” Phillip adjusted his jacket, inspecting it for some of Whitmore’s blood. “I am a firm believer in allowing others to suffer.”

  “How very out of character,” Sebastian said dryly.

  “Yes well, it appears my stepmother will stop at nothing. Therefore, I will wait until I am married before I make a visit to her home and inform her of my decision to cast her away from the remaining estates. I do think it is time for her to retire, don’t you?”

  Sebastian nodded emphatically. “Yes, I hear the weather is lovely in America this time of year.”

  “Yes and wouldn’t it be dreadful if she were to happen across some of their Indian natives?”

  “Rumor has it they scalp white people.”

  “Ah, for shame.” Phillip laughed. “Although tempting, I won’t cast her out to America, I’m not that much of a brute. However, she will be forced to leave town immediately, but not until after everyone sees that she is not invited to the wedding.”

  “Will she care?”

  The carriage came to a stop. “Oh, she will be devastated, for the only one whom isn’t invited will be her.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The men approached the house and gave each other a brief slap on the back as a way to brace themselves for the upcoming few days. Where women would be scattering about making wedding plans. One thing was for sure. A faster and more elaborate wedding, the ton never had seen before.

  ****

  Abigail waited in her rooms for Emma to arrive. It felt foreign to be wearing such a beautiful dress. It was in the empire style and boasted of six layers of almost sheer lace before overlaying pure silk that danced around her legs. The front of the dress held a few small sewn in crystals. All compliments of Rawlings, or Phillip as he now asked she call him. Feeling as if she were the star of her own fairy tale, she let out a girlish sigh.

  The engagement ring on her finger was heavy enough to make her arm ache. At least she liked to jest that her arm ached from the heavy ruby, when really she would wear ten of them regardless of the weight if it showed that she belonged to the man she loved. The fire and possession in Phillip’s eyes when he looked down at her spoke of so much more than rings and expensive jewels.

  “Forever, mine,” he had said, brushing a kiss across her lips.

  Absentmindedly she touched her lips. Her gloved hands shook with excitement. Today, she would be married to the man she had fallen for so long ago.

  “Abby, the ceremony is about to commence. Have you everything you need?” Emma’s voice interrupted Abigail’s silent yearning for Phillip’s kisses.

  “Give me a moment.” Taking one final look in the mirror, Abigail eased into her new slippers and went to the door.

  Once Abigail reached the opening to the church, she exhaled the breath she had been holding and boldly looked down the aisle to where Phillip waited.

  It appeared that Phillip had kept his promise and left the invitation open to all who wanted to attend. Which was basically anyone with a title. The church was sweltering and packed to the gills with well wishers from the peerage, each of them wearing smiles as if they believed in Rawlings all along and were in support of the marriage between the two from the start, when in fact the opposite was true. If it wasn’t for the Dowager of Barlowe, and Mrs. Peabody retracting her earlier statements, Abigail imagined the church would be empty. Then again, the ton was attracted to scandal like a bee to honey.

  Shaking her head, Abigail continued her walk down the aisle. Phillip was looking at his boots. She stifled a laugh, for wasn’t it just a few weeks prior that she found him doing the exact same thing?

  But this time when he looked up, it wasn’t hopelessness she saw on his handsome face but gratitude, love, passion. Could a girl swoon on her wedding day and be forgiven?

  The minute he reached out to touch her, she wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave. He lifted her chin and mouthed, “I love you,” before the service commenced.

  ****

  Phillip had no recollection of saying anything, though he was sure he did. God above, she was breathtaking. The woman he was now escorting from the church was so precious it hurt to think about it.

  Her dress alone nearly brought him to his knees. He had half a mind to continue lifting the layers of lace just to see what presents would be beneath. It was torture watching as she sashayed down the aisle, silk clinging to her delicate curves.

  Mouth dry, he knew only that he was repeating whatever he was supposed to, and he had an irritating lump in his throat that refused to go away.

  “Up you go.” He helped her into the carriage for the short drive to the wedding breakfast. What he wouldn’t give to have snubbed his nose at the rules and had a wedding that took place at night. An evening wedding would have had its advantages, he could happily strip his bride of her delectable dress and possess her as he’d been dreaming of the past few days, instead of face more of the ton and politely nod his head when the last thing he wanted to do involved speaking. Though he was loathe to break tradition and Sebastian had warned him of pushing the limits too far, especially since he invited every aristocrat in residence.

  And while Sebastian had sworn that a man could not die from unquenched desire, Phillip was having momentary doubts as Abby turned and laughed, revealing the most perfect smile he had ever seen.

  He cursed. Unfortunately, it was out loud.

  “Phillip?” Abigail, the spellbinding witch, leaned closer and cupped his head between her hands. “Are you unwell?”

  “I believe you are finding your new husband in a fit of frustration.”

  “How can I be of service?”

  Phillip shuddered, thinking he should be hit for the mental images of her beneath him writhing in pleasure, he laughed. “Well, I guess that all depends on you.”

  “How so?”

  He gave a wolfish smile and he lifted her onto his lap. She straddled him, making his pain almost unbearable. They had minutes before they arrived in front of the townhome.

  The carriage bumped around, and Phillip swore again as he brought his lips firmly against Abigail’s. She needed no encouragement, the second her warm lips met his, she began pulling at his jacket. Saints alive, the girl was strong.

  “Abby,” he mumbled between kisses as the innocent continued to attack the shocked rake with a vengeance. Apparently this was how it was to be, besides hadn’t she been the one to kiss first? “Abby, if you don’t stop moving atop me and pulling at my clothes, we, my dear, will never make it to the wedding breakfast. For I will carry you straightaway to my home and lock you in our rooms until I’ve pleasured you again, again, and again until your scream is hoarse and sleep claims you with my name on your lips.”

  The beautiful minx, blonde hair falling delicately around her face, stopped. “How important is the wedding breakfast?”

  Her fingers moved toward his breeches.

  Phillip bit back an oath as he fed on her lips like a starved man. “Abby, I mean it.”

  She continued to tug until his shirt was free and his breeches were minutes from being loose.

  He relented, chuckling and wanting to curse at the same time, “Two drinks of champagne
and no food. It takes too blasted long to eat and socialize at the same time. We’ll make our appearance and then we’re leaving.”

  Abby nodded.

  He grabbed her face between his hands “And, if Lady Fenton or any other lady corners you wanting to have that boorish talk about the wedding night, you run. Understand?”

  “Perfectly!” She kissed him again as the carriage came to a stop.

  Phillip closed his eyes against the onslaught of arousal and frustration. The idea that he had to smile as though everything was perfect in the world when really his most intense desire was to lay claim to his wife…repeatedly, seemed too much for him to handle.

  Phillip adjusted his jacket to cover up the more visible signs of his distress, he took a sobering breath of fresh air and followed his wife up the stairs into the home.

  Was it stifling in that house? All at once people began cheering and talking. He motioned for a glass of champagne and downed it before Sebastian approached him, smug grin in place.

  “Welcome to Hades, my friend.”

  Phillip swore. “Yes, though all appearances display a jolly and happy husband, I am in fact contemplating which wall I shall bash my head into while I wait for tonight.”

  Sebastian slapped him on the back. “Just shake hands and smile. You’ll be able to escape with Abigail soon enough.” He paused and downed the rest of his whiskey. “The very thought of you alone with Abigail is enough to pressure me to get foxed this afternoon. Do be careful, Phillip. She’s an innocent.”

  “Devil take it! Are you having the wedding night talk with me? Truly, Sebastian? Don’t think I’ve ever been this uncomfortable in my life.” Phillip’s gaze darted around the room, looking for escape. He’d warned Abby of this type of discussion not once thinking he could be cornered for the same thing.

  “You know, just take it slow, Phillip.”

  Phillip cursed and motioned for another drink.