The Fifth Wife Read online

He let her name roll back into his consciousness.

  Amelia DeVere.

  She of the silken ivory skin and hair as black as the proverbial raven’s wing. Her scent was sultry, her body a mixture of perfection and wickedness, and in bed she was half innocent-half whore.

  Their whirlwind affair had lasted three weeks. He’d believed himself in love with her. And when she’d cast him aside, he’d believed she’d ruined him forever.

  What a goddamned fool he’d been.

  Chapter Two

  The hustle and bustle of Fontaine House came as a big surprise to Charles, as he stepped from his carriage and into his own front hall.

  “Oh, Mr. Charles, you’re home. Thank goodness.” Sharpley, his butler, advanced on him, almost wringing his hands in distress. “It’s her Ladyship, sir.”

  “What Ladyship?” Charles let the man take his traveling cloak.

  “Lady Grassemaine, sir. Your aunt.”

  “Oh dear God.”

  “Quite, sir.” Sharpley sighed. “Er, your pardon. I understand I should be addressing you now as Lord Penvale?”

  “Word has spread, I see.”

  “Born upon the wind, as it were. Not to mention the morning papers.”

  Charles sighed in turn. “How much information?”

  “Very little, sir.” Sharpley shrugged. “Just that you had inherited the title upon the passing of the late Lord Penvale. A paragraph on his military achievements, family, and so on.”

  “That would be more than enough, I suppose. Got the tongues wagging in London, I’ll be bound.”

  “Indeed. And if you’ll pardon the observation, sir, it might well account for this surprise visit from your Aunt.”

  “Observation not only pardoned but absolutely concurred with.” He sidestepped a maid with an armful of linens, and allowed Sharpley to lead him into the small salon. “She’s after information. It’s her goal in life.”

  He was pleased to see a fire burning and a tray awaiting him with a selection of delicacies, along with a decanter of amber liquid. The sight of his favorite whiskey was enough to warm Charles’s heart even before he had finished pouring it.

  “When is the dear lady arriving?” He sipped, smiled with appreciation and turned back to his valet.

  “Early afternoon, sir. I should mention that she is not arriving alone. She is bringing a niece and three of her niece’s friends.” The look his butler shot him was one of sympathy. “Young ladies, I understand. And their maids.”

  “Ah.” Charles understood. “It explains the unusual amount of activity I detected upon my arrival.”

  “We are preparing the East wing suites for them, if that meets with your approval?”

  “Put ‘em anywhere, Sharpley. Just not near me. I’m sure Mrs. Wells can deal with them.”

  “She has taken the liberty of masterminding the arrangements, sir.”

  “That’s why she’s my most valuable housekeeper and second only to you in my esteem. Between the two of you, I seldom have to worry about things like this.”

  Sharpley bowed his appreciation of the compliment. “I shall pass your words along. I know Mrs. Wells will be happy to know you endorse her actions.” He paused and cleared his throat. “However, I will add a brief word, if I may?”

  “Of course.” Charles finished his drink, letting the sweet burn of the liquor seep through his weary limbs.

  “You are now Lord Penvale, sir, whether you like it or not. You have a thriving estate here at Fontaine Hall. Your reputation is that of a gentleman of comfortable means, not to mention pleasing disposition and appearance.”

  “You flatter me, Sharpley. Pray continue.”

  “Well my Lord, you are, as of the last day or so, near the top of the list of eligible titled bachelors, and—if you’ll forgive the expression— a golden lure for any unwed female. And four of them are about to arrive.”

  Charles stared at his butler in astonishment. He could think of no response to that at all, since his brain had absorbed the words and wanted nothing more than to let out a shriek of terror.

  He’d never considered himself as anything but another unmarried bachelor, and there were plenty of those in London. That the title he’d just inherited would shoot him up the eligibility scale? Well that hadn’t occurred to him.

  Hastily he poured himself another whiskey and drained it in one gulp. Then he turned to Sharpley. “You have just earned yourself a bonus, Sharpley. This one for your amazing ability to comprehend situations twenty minutes before me, thus saving my arse.”

  “You are too kind, my Lord.” Sharpley bowed.

  “I think I’d better retire now. If I don’t, I’ll finish that decanter and that won’t be a good thing. However, you may alert the household that I will be leaving on business tomorrow. Early tomorrow.”

  “How early would that be, sir?”

  “What time is my Aunt arriving?”

  “We were told it would be any time after one in the afternoon, sir.”

  “I will be leaving no later than ten.”

  “Excellent. I shall have everything prepared for your journey. May I inquire as to your destination, my Lord?”

  “I’ll let you know when I think of one.” Charles headed out of the room. “Thank you again, Sharpley. I know you’ll make my Aunt and her guests welcome. Spare no expense. And get rid of them as soon as you can.”

  “You may rely on me, sir.”

  “Good man.”

  Thus it was that at half-past nine on the following morning, the freshly minted Lord Penvale found himself heading toward the New Forest on his favorite horse.

  The snow had turned to a cold drizzle that occasionally froze on the bare branches above him.

  The country lanes were winding, ill-tended and more mud than anything else at this time of the year. It wasn’t a ride he’d have taken by choice, but since he had managed to spend half an hour reading about Agisters over breakfast, he’d seized this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

  He would escape the clutches of a gaggle of simpering, husband-hungry misses, and pursue his current task, which was to find the fifth wife.

  Armed with his notes about Agisters and their function as gamekeepers to the livestock permitted access to the New Forest—it was a complicated business—he found himself on the way to a crossroads not far from Lyndhurst.

  There, according to his information, he would find a small inn. Picturesquely named The Sow’s Ear, it hosted frequent gatherings of Agisters, said his reference book. Charles doubted he’d be lucky enough to meet all of them in one spot, but perchance he’d have the good fortune to find one who could tell him if Miss Hannah Derby was anywhere in the vicinity.

  He couldn’t deny he was curious about this young woman. Being unwed at the ripe age of twenty-three was unusual. Although given the size of her family he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him.

  From the facts of the matter, he deduced the Derbys weren’t well connected or well greased, and other than their association with the Penvales—who were also all but penniless—they could have been a simple country family with no notability of any kind. Thus the Derby girls might not have experienced a rush of marriage proposals. Perhaps they were all cross-eyed or blighted with some other unattractive trait.

  He sighed. It would be a blessing for all concerned if Miss Derby proved reasonable and would entertain his suggestions for a settlement and discharge of all duties owed by the Derbys to the Penvale heritage. By running away, she had demonstrated that she didn’t want a husband, which sentiment he endorsed because he didn’t want a wife.

  He felt that a man of his age, twenty-eight in a month or two, still had many good bachelor years ahead of him. Yes, he’d heard that Lucius had accidentally found the right woman in a wrong place, but that was a rarity. He was happy for his old friend and looking forward to meeting Julia at some vague point in the future. He wasn’t much for planning ahead.

  Which was another reason he didn’t wish for a w
ife. He liked spontaneity, the freedom to be a will-‘o-the-wisp if he felt like it, or to retreat to his lair at Fontaine House for a few months, alone but for his books.

  But since his last such whim had ended with him secluded in Windsor for three weeks at a small residence owned by Amelia DeVere, perhaps giving up those particular whims would be a good thing.

  His mouth twisted in distaste. She’d haunted his dreams and driven him mad until she’d engineered an opportunity to get him into her bed. There, she’d fucked him until he was half-blind, and entangled him in her sensual coils. He’d been lost from the moment he touched her body.

  And she knew it, playing him with all the skill of a brilliant violinist exploring a brand new instrument.

  It still hurt, of course. It had shattered him to learn that she’d gone from his bed to another’s. She had surprised him months before, when she’d confided to him—after a few too many sherries—that Lucius Gordon was the best she’d ever had. He should have known, from that comment alone, what kind of woman she was.

  His friend Delaney Deverell had cautioned him over and over again that Amelia was deadly. But he’d ignored it all and fallen head over heels in lust for her. It was lust, too, not love. He saw that fact clearly now, since his shattered heart had begun the slow healing process.

  She had been a life-changing experience. But being of an optimistic nature, Charles determined to derive what good he could from their time together. And if possible, he would push the bad things away into the recesses of his memory.

  It wasn’t easy, realizing that the woman you thought you loved didn’t share those emotions, but was already looking for a better prospect. That even as she took you inside her and demanded you make her come again and again, she was plotting her next move—to her next lover.

  He’d learned how true the expression cold and calculating could be. And it had cost him some of his joy in life. He hoped he would get it back, because if not…

  He shivered.

  It could have been the cold rain, of course, since that ceaseless icy drizzle was already permeating his cloak and dripping down his neck. So it was with a jolt of relief he spied lights at the end of the dark lane. The bushes on either side loosened their hold on the road and the landscape opened a little to one of those lovely New Forest glades, where sunlight—when there was any—could dance among the trees and favor the gardens with warmth.

  And joy upon joy, there was the inn. A sizeable and solid looking structure with a few outbuildings that he hoped were stables…it might have been named The Sow’s Ear, but to Charles, wet, chilled and a little depressed, it could well have been named the Silk Purse.

  He dismounted, tied his horse out of the rain beneath the eaves, and went inside.

  *~~*~~*

  She was behind the tap when the door opened and a gust of icy air blew in behind the man who strode inside.

  But one look at him and Hannah Derby’s stomach filled with butterflies. It could be him. Ducking down beneath the shining bar, she cursed like a drunken sailor beneath her breath, while wondering what to do.

  Thankfully Old Martin chose that moment to return with an armful of wood. He slammed the back door shut and walked toward the large fireplace that dominated most of one wall. The stranger was standing beside it warming his hands.

  “Cold day, then, sir. Good to get a bit of this heat on yer.”

  “It is indeed.” The man smiled, his shaggy blond hair spilling over his collar. “I didn’t realize how hard the going would be when I set out this morning.”

  “Sometimes she’s a lovely place, this forest of ours. Others, she’s a right bitch—if you’ll pardon me language.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” The man laughed. “Any chance of an ale? I don’t know if you’re open yet—but the door was unlocked.”

  “Oh we’re open, but ‘sceptin’ yerself, I doubt we’ll see many folks on a day like this. Mebbe this evenin’ if it lifts some. Our rooms are empty—‘t’is that time o’ year, sir. Not many folks a’travelin’. ‘Specially wi’ this rain like to turn to snow a’fore long.” He walked back toward the bar and moved behind it, making sure not to step on Hannah who was tucked into as small a space as she could manage, right next to the ale barrel.

  “Would yer be looking fer a room then?” He poured the ale and passed the tankard across to the tall man leaning comfortably against the wood.

  “You know, I just might be. I don’t see this dratted weather clearing up any time soon. It might be wise for me to stay put for a day or so until it clears. I’m hoping to end up in Lyndhurst, but time isn’t a factor.” He sipped his ale and made an appreciative sound. “Mmm. Well that settles it. You have an ale that is magnificent. I’ll take a room.”

  Old Martin chuckled. “Get’s ‘em every time.”

  “I can understand why.”

  “Here yer go then, sir. Top o’ the stairs there, turn left and all the way to the end. Best we got.” He took a key from beneath the bar and handed it over.

  “My horse?”

  “Stables ‘round back, but yer got to take care of the beast yerself. I don’t keep stable hands on through the winter. Fresh water there though. And plenty of good hay along with a snug shelter.”

  “Excellent. I’ll do that right now. Don’t touch that ale…I’ll need it when I’m done.”

  “Yes, sir.” Old Martin grinned at his back as he left the inn. Then he looked down at the floor. “So since when have yer been curling up like a pup when we got customers, lass?”

  “It was him, Martin. Him. I know it.” Hannah scrambled out from her hiding place and stood, brushing the dust off her simple cotton skirt and straightening her apron.

  “Now, lass. Yer can’t go thinkin’ every man who walks in is this Lord Whatshisname. This one’s got yeller hair, and blue eyes, sure. But that don’t make him yer Nemesis.”

  Hannah grinned at the old man. “Why Martin. I didn’t know you were quite so well-read.”

  He shook his finger at her. “Don’t give me none of yer cheek, girl. Stop jumpin’ at every shadow. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. What’s the odds the first man who walks in on a slow day is the one yer runnin’ from? Durned small, I’d say.”

  “I know.” She picked up her cloth and resumed her interrupted task of dusting off the tables and straightening the chairs. “But I can’t help worrying. My family might guess I’ve come this way, since cousin Michael is the only relative I have far enough away to be out of reach. I did what I know I had to do. I couldn’t stay and find myself married to some London fop who is likely to be little more than a rich idiot. I’d die. Or kill myself. Either way it would be the death of me.”

  Martin snorted.

  “And don’t you roll your eyes, old man. You know I’m right.” She thumped a chair into place with a vicious kick of her toe. “Trouble is that I’m out of his reach, but I’m also out of touch. So I don’t know if he’s been told or what he said…or anything.” She sighed. “I don’t know which is worse. Being here and cut off from all that, or being there and stuck in the middle of it.”

  “Right ol’ cock-up either way, I’d say.”

  “And you’d be right.” She finished her cleaning and reached for the brush. “I’ll do the hearth and then check to see if there’s anything needed in that man’s room.”

  “Thanks, lass. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Martin nodded. “Dottie’s a good cleaning girl, but nowhere near as sharp as yersel’. And likely we won’t see her for a few days if it gets any worse outside.”

  “Why thank ye fer the compliment, sir.” She dropped a quick curtsey.

  “Cheeky. Leave the fire, dearie. I got more wood to stack in the hearth. Do the room a’fore he comes back. Reckon it’ll be a good snow a’fore nightfall.”

  “Bloody hell. That means we’ll be burdened with this man for a bit. I’ll check the larder too. Might be able to get down to Mrs. Marsh and beg a few eggs of her if we need to.”

  “I’l
l take care o’ that. Just tell me what we need.”

  Hannah hid a smile. Martin was definitely enamored of the feisty widow who managed her own small farm with an iron will and a booming voice. Any excuse to “drop by” was welcomed.

  On that thought, she hurried upstairs and picked up fresh linens from the cupboard in the long corridor.

  Once again she marveled at the way the Sow’s Ear had grown out of an ancient manor. The parts that had fallen down had been rebuilt to create the taproom and a small snug for the ladies. Then there were seven guest rooms on the second floor, all in a good state of repair.

  Martin had given the blond gentleman the largest of them, and privately Hannah admitted it was her favorite. The large windows were made of tiny squared pieces of glass, and overlooked a small stretch of lawn bounded by the forest. It was a pretty view at any time of year. The window seat beckoned one to curl up with a good book, and she hoped some time she might be able to do so. There was even a small dressing room for the use of a gentleman’s valet or a lady’s maid. The furniture was antique, maybe even original. The bed was carved from some dark heavy wood, and matched the massive chest with a mirror above it. It was luxurious for a country inn, and Hannah hoped the man would appreciate it.

  Her room was nearer the stairs, and unless you were looking for it, you would miss it all together. The door was cleverly built into the paneling, and it opened onto a much smaller space, too small to serve as a guest room, but the view was almost as good.

  She loved it and in the relatively short time she’d stayed there, it had become a place of comfort, refuge and security. She was free, something she’d yearned for but never managed to achieve until now. She didn’t need physical space, just uncluttered mental horizons.

  Her distant cousin Michael was an Agister and he had a cottage in the next village. He also had a wife and five children and not an inch of space to spare, but Hannah had been quite content to take a room at the Sow’s Ear in exchange for a chance to help out around the place. She’d worked in her family’s inn now and again, so she wasn’t completely inexperienced.