The Lady Tamed by Boyd, Heather (urban books to read TXT) 📗

Jeremy glided around the bed quietly, removing his coat and his pocket watch to place them on a side table. She felt a pang of disquiet as he removed his boots that he might continue undressing until he was naked. But then he climbed onto the bed mostly clothed and wriggled closer, spreading one arm out toward her.

“Come here, my dear lady. Hold on to me.”

Fanny rolled into his embrace and heaved a heavy sigh as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Today must have been dreadful for you. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“I am, too. I don’t even know who I’m grieving for, and I feel quite bad about that.” A sob tore from her throat, though she tried to smother it.

Jeremy’s fingers stroked her head and hair. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

Fanny breathed his scent deep into her lungs, conscious that the beat of his heart was steady and true had pushed away the impulse to cry. Jeremy was young, healthy. Certain to live for a very long time. And with that thought in her mind, Fanny felt peace for the first time in hours.

Chapter 6

Jeremy accepted a silver tankard from a servant and strolled into the Duke of Stapleton’s library, overcome by the unexpected noise of masculinity but determined not to show he didn’t belong in such a room. The vast chamber contained at least two dozen other men of varying ages, each wearing a band of mourning around their upper left arm. One of the servants had whispered to him that most, if not all of the local gentry had answered the duke’s summons to toast the late Mr. Hawthorne today.

Knowing few in the room but asked to attend as well, Jeremy kept to the outskirts of the conversations and observed everyone. A great deal they spoke of meant nothing to him, but he prowled the room as if he was used to such gatherings.

It was clear to see who possessed the most wealth or the least by the way they held themselves and the tones of their voices. Signet rings sparkled on chubby fingers and fob watches gleamed in waistcoat pockets of the richest fellows. More than a few boasted canes topped with gold figures of lions or horses, all but a few spoke with subdued tones.

He passed a pair of toffs with heads bent together speaking loudly. “I say, where are the women?”

“I heard they’ve all gone to comfort the new widow for the day,” the sadder of the pair muttered and then buried his nose in his tankard.

“A shame for I had wished to speak with one of them alone.”

The sadder man glanced sideways at his companion. “Still hoping to catch Lady Rivers? Good luck to you.”

“Always. You haven’t given up, I’m sure of that.”

“I have my own reasons for seeking her out.” The sadder one sighed. “She’s led us all a merry dance over the years.”

“For the last year, I promise you,” claimed Lord Dour, as Jeremy dubbed him. “One way or the other, she’ll be wed before the year is out.”

“Ambitious.” The balding one asked, “Keen to expand the family holdings?”

The sour fellow was narrowly built and at least twenty years older than Jeremy. His face displayed little sorrow as he regarded the occupants of the room. “Always, and now with Hawthorne soon to be underground, the widow will finally have to sell her slice of land. What a better time to unite two great families. Women have no business managing an estate or money.”

The balding one sighed. “And Lady Rivers has a surfeit of both just waiting to be taken over.”

“I can certainly imagine better uses for it than building orphanages and the like,” Lord Dour nearly spat as if it was a dirty habit to help someone in need. “Well, let’s drink to Hawthorne and hope the ladies return before sunset.”

Jeremy moved away but committed those men and their words to his memory, though not with the intention of emulating them on the stage one day. He did not like the way they spoke of Lady Rivers. One way or another meant she really was a target for fortune hunters at this wedding.

He had wondered if she’d been exaggerating in the beginning, but now…

Apparently not.

And after last night, giving her the comfort she craved in her own bed, he was even more determined to look out for her best interests.

The bald fellow raised his glass high. “To Hawthorne.”

Jeremy toasted along with them before he strolled on. But he decided to find out who they were and then…well, he had options if they caused trouble for Lady Rivers later. He could at least warn her, or perhaps the duke might want to know as well. He seemed quite a protective father.

Eventually he found the duke seated by the fire with all the male members of his family surrounding him. Jeremy eased a little closer and was grateful when he was called over by the duke himself to join them.

“I was wondering what was keeping you.”

“There’s quite a crowd,” he murmured by way of apology.

“Indeed there is, and rightly so. It’s a damn shame about Hawthorne,” the Duke of Stapleton said, taking a long swallow from the silver tankard a footman had placed before him.

The man’s sons, son-in-law and future son-in-law murmured their agreement and drank deeply. Jeremy merely sipped his ale to be agreeable, not out of any real desire for the drink.

The death of the neighbor seemed to have hit the family hard, the duke most of all. There had even been talk of delaying the wedding out of respect for the dead, but the newly widowed Mrs. Hawthorne had foreseen such a decision. She had sent a note forbidding anyone to consider delaying the nuptials. So the wedding would take place a few days earlier than planned, with the funeral to follow a day later.

He had to admit it was hard to look forward to a wedding when the dead was waiting for