Page 21 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)

Lord Bradley scowled at her and Georgette quailed inwardly but put up her chin. This vile libertine might be a peer of the realm, but she would not cower before him. Instead, she regarded him with the full measure of contempt she felt blazing in her eyes.

―Excerpt from ‘His Grace and Disfavour’, by an anonymous author.

16 th November 1850, St Anne’s Church, Soho, London.

Larkin wondered if it was the most unusual wedding that St Anne’s Church in Soho had ever witnessed. If it was, he had to give the vicar credit, for the man didn’t bat an eyelid, even when Aunt Connie, resplendent in bright purple and glittering with the largest display of amethysts and diamonds Larkin had ever seen, floated down the aisle. She called out greetings as she went, waving to Lord and Lady Montagu and the Marquess of Blackstone—who, she had told Larkin in confidence, was a wicked darling—and even blowing a kiss to Ashton Anson.

Maggie, who had insisted Connie walk first up the aisle, appeared a moment later, and Larkin ceased to think of anything else. She wore her thick blonde hair in a simple chignon, and her ivory gown was trimmed with Brussels lace. However, despite his artistic eye and love of detail, he barely noticed the gown, the flowers, or the diamonds lent to her by Lady Montagu, for her face, serene behind the lace veil, was the single most stunning thing he’d ever seen in his life. His heart gave an erratic thud as he realised how terribly lucky he was.

“Mama! Mama!”

Gideon bounced up and down beside Caro, who tried to hush him, to no avail as he spotted his mother.

“Pretty Mama!” Gideon said, his tone approving, clapping as the congregation chuckled indulgently.

Maggie laughed and blew him a kiss before taking her place beside Larkin. Through the lace veil, he saw her beautiful blue-green eyes glittering with happiness and knew the same joy was reflected in his own.

He hardly heard a word of the service, making his replies in a daze, unable to look away from his bride as the rest of the world disappeared. It was just Maggie and him, making each other promises they would be sure to keep, no matter what.

When the vicar finally said the grooms could kiss their brides, the congregation erupted as Cecil swept his wife up into his arms and spun her around before planting a smacking kiss upon her lips. Larkin was barely aware of the furore, too consumed with the lifting of Maggie’s veil. The action made him feel strangely reverent, as if he were casting aside their old lives with the removal of the delicate lace, and letting in the future as the sun shone through the stained glass and fell like a blessing upon her lovely face.

She smiled up at him, and he suddenly saw everything he had ever wanted before him, as simple as breathing.

“Thank you,” he told her, with all the love and emotion he was feeling, and whilst she might not understand precisely what she was being thanked for, it did not matter, as he lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed his wife.

6 th November 1850, Ridgeley House, Belgravia, London.

The wedding breakfast was lavish and, after being presented with a spread of food in both great quantity and exquisite quality, most of the guests had probably hoped for little more than a nice nap. However, the company had quickly come to understand that Mrs Connie Thompson was a force to be reckoned with, so whilst it was most unconventional when she insisted everyone must dance the moment everyone had finished eating, no one thought to deny her and, moreover, they all seemed delighted to join in.

Maggie watched her aunt, finally in her element, and felt almost as overwhelmed by Connie’s good fortune and happiness as she was by her own. Aunt Connie’s joy was infectious, her desire that everyone be as happy as she quite irresistible, and it had made the day so special it would live in everyone’s memory forevermore.

“Look,” Larkin said as he danced Maggie around the floor for a second time. He had refused to relinquish her hand to allow the Earl of Ashburton to dance with her, telling his friend in the most amicable of terms to ‘sling his hook.’

Far from taking offence, the earl had promised to try again later when her husband was feeling a touch less possessive. Now, however, she looked over to see Lord Montagu guiding Aunt Connie around the ballroom.

“Oh, my lord,” she said, suddenly panic struck by what her irrepressible aunt might do or say to the intimidating marquess. However, as Montagu lowered his head to listen to whatever it was Connie was whispering to him, his eyes twinkled with mirth, and he gave a sudden burst of laughter. Connie glanced across to see Maggie watching and smirked, well aware what a coup it was to have made the ice cold marquess laugh in public.

“May I?”

Larkin halted the dance the moment before he moved her into a turn, and Maggie looked around to see Baron Rothborn, her father-in-law, at their side, holding out his hand to her. She glanced at Larkin in surprise, for he had told her his father very rarely danced due to the injury he’d sustained in the war. Larkin sighed.

“I’ve just sent Ashburton off, must I do so to you too?” Larkin asked, quirking an eyebrow.

The Baron, whose ruggedly handsome features were echoed in his son, mirrored the expression. “You may try,” he replied dryly.

Larkin snorted. “No chance,” he said with amusement, and reluctantly handed her into his father’s care.

“I’m afraid I’m no dancer, but I could not resist stealing you away for a moment or two, which is all I will manage, I’m afraid,” the Baron said with a crooked smile.

“I’m honoured,” Maggie replied, for though she had only met Larkin’s parents briefly the previous day, they had both been so warm and kind she knew she was sincerely welcomed into their family.

“Gideon is a lovely fellow. You must be very proud of him.”

“I am, my lord,” Maggie said, touched by his kindness, for she had seen him take pains to introduce himself to Gideon, who was still sitting with Lady Rothborn, who seemed equally enchanted.

“Call me Solo. Everyone does,” he said. “If I may call you Maggie?”

“Please,” she replied at once.

“My daughter, Grace, and her husband, Sterling, were sorry not to be here today, but leaving the farm can’t be done at the drop of a hat. They’re to be at the Priory for Christmas, however. I have not asked Larkin yet, but I hope you might join us, too.”

Maggie considered this and looked ruefully up at the Baron.

“Ah,” he said, understanding at once. “You have plans.”

“It’s to be our first Christmas back at the manor, and there have been so many changes in Gideon’s life of late—”

“Say no more. Jemima told me as much, but I’m a stubborn fellow and like things all my own way,” he said ruefully.

Maggie laughed and shook her head. “Indeed, I would have loved to join you, but perhaps we might come for Easter?”

He brightened perceptibly at this suggestion. “An excellent notion. I shall look forward to it immensely.”

“As shall I,” Maggie replied, meaning it.

The dance ended, which she suspected was just as well as the baron’s limp was rather more pronounced as he made his way back to his wife.

“Mama! Grandmama is almost as good at drawing as Westie. Look!” Gideon brandished the drawing of a pig sitting at a table and wielding a knife and fork, with obvious delight.

Lady Rothborn looked a little sheepish as she regarded her daughter-in-law. “I’m sorry, I’m so used to being ‘Grandmama’ to my daughter’s children I did not stop to think and—”

“I think it’s wonderful that Gideon has grandparents. Don’t you, Giddy?”

Giddy, who had returned to his drawing, ignored this, instead tugging at Lady Rothborn’s sleeve. “Grandmama, do another. A duck,” he insisted.

Laughing, Lady Rothborn complied at once.

6 th November 1850 Ridgeley House, Belgravia, London.

Though the party looked set to go on long into the night, by late afternoon Larkin was champing at the bit. He had arranged with Barnes and Mrs Goodall that his house be made ready for his wife, and food enough provided for several days, so that they needed no extra staff, though Priddy was waiting to help Maggie prepare for her wedding night before leaving to take up her new position working for Lady Belinda Knight. Whilst Maggie and Larkin remained in town, Caro and Giddy would stay with Lord and Lady Rothborn, who were guests at Montagu House, and the staff would go ahead to the manor to prepare everything for their arrival.

They were to have two blissful nights alone before travelling to Norfolk, and Larkin did not wish to share his wife for another moment. He had already taken action and requested their carriage be readied for them, so when Pip tried once again to dance with Maggie, Larkin once more told him to get lost.

“Larkin!” Maggie protested crossly.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall her scolding. “I’m a highhanded brute, and at any other time I would not dare, but I want to go home , Maggie,” he said, his expression meaningful.

Maggie turned pink, the colour flushing down her neck to her décolletage. He wondered just how far it spread, which did not help his impatience.

Ashburton cleared his throat. “Another time, Mrs Weston,” he said politely, grinning at Larkin as he went to ask Maggie’s aunt to dance instead. Connie, who had just held Ashton Anson to his promise to waltz with her, was so gracious as to accept.

“Do you mind very much?” Larkin asked, frowning as he realised he was a greedy devil. This was her special day and, if she wished to stay, he would endure it.

“Of course not,” she said. “If only you’d said so in private instead of in front of the earl, you wicked man! Come along, then, before anyone notices.”

So saying, she grasped his hand and hurried out of the ballroom, towing him behind her.

“Gideon?” Larkin asked, rather delighted by this turn of events, but wondering if they ought not say goodbye first.

“He’s asleep in your mama’s lap,” she said with a laugh. “He adores her, and he won’t know we’ve gone. He seems delighted at the prospect at staying with them and seeing Miss Barrington again, and he’s got Caro too. I’m sure they can manage him.”

Relieved, Larkin needed no further persuading and rushed her to their waiting carriage.

The moment the door closed, Larkin pulled down the shutters and drew Maggie into his embrace. She laughed, her breath warm against his lips as he pressed his mouth to hers, and the quarter hour drive back to Berwick Street passed in a blur of increasingly heated kisses.

Though he was frustrated by having to let her go, spending his wedding night in a carriage did not appeal and so Larkin helped Maggie down before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her over the threshold.

Maggie laughed, delighted, but protested as he continued on up the stairs. “You’ll hurt your back! Put me down!”

“I may not be as brawny as Cecil, but I am quite capable of carrying a featherweight like you, love,” Larkin reproved.

Still, he set her down as they came face-to-face with a blushing Priddy, who gave a giggle and rushed into the spare room that had been set aside for Maggie to ready herself.

Sending Larkin a look of amused mortification, Maggie scurried after her.

“Don’t be too long, love,” Larkin called after her, unable to resist.

Maggie gasped, knowing Priddy would have heard that too, and closed the door on him.

Laughing, Larkin went to see to his own preparations and prayed she really wouldn’t take too long to punish him for his cheek.

6 th November 1850 Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Though Maggie rather regretted having arranged for Priddy to help her, for Larkin was certainly well able to play lady’s maid and undress her, she could not deny the sweet-scented bath that awaited her was very welcome. Also, taking a little time to reflect upon the wonderful day, and to prepare herself for the coming night, was not such a bad thing.

She was no blushing virgin, she reminded herself, and though her first marriage had been tragically brief, it had been a happy experience. She had no qualms about the coming night, knowing both she and Larkin were older and wiser and trusting her new husband implicitly.

So, whilst she fizzed with impatience, Maggie enjoyed the momentary respite after the excitement of the day and allowed Priddy to soothe her nerves by brushing out her long hair until it shone. Finally, however, Priddy was done, and she stepped back.

The nightgown was simple but lovely, a sheer fine silk edged with lace and tiny white bows. Maggie had fretted over wearing white on her wedding night until Aunt Connie had scolded her for being such a silly goose and observed she was unlikely to be wearing it for long.

“You look ever so pretty, Mrs Weston,” Priddy said, still blushing a fiery red.

Mrs Weston . The sudden change felt at once new and strange and utterly perfect.

“Thank you, Priddy. That will be all, but I should like to thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We shall miss you.”

Priddy grinned. “I’ll miss you too, especially that naughty scamp Master Gideon, but I’m that excited to work for Lady Belinda. Me, working for a real lady!” she said in awe. “Mr Weston was so kind to arrange it for me, and I’m that grateful. He’s a good ’un, missus, and I reckon you’ll be happy.”

“So do I,” Maggie said, giving Priddy an impulsive hug. “And I know you will be too. Good luck to you.”

Priddy bobbed a curtsey and left and a few minutes later.

Maggie heard the back door close. They were alone.

Steeling her nerves, Maggie padded along the corridor to where she now knew Larkin’s bedroom was. With a soft knock, she opened the door, her breath catching as she found Larkin waiting for her. He was standing by the fire that blazed in the hearth, a glass of brandy in his hand, and he wore the magnificent banyan she had seen once before.

Her breath caught. She bit her lip but was unable to hide her smile.

“What are you grinning at, wife?” he asked with amusement, though the words sounded somewhat breathless as he gazed at her. He set down his glass, not taking his eyes from her as they grew dark and hot with emotion.

“I’m so glad you wore that,” she admitted, hurrying to him and losing no time in wrapping her arms about him. “I’m afraid I’ve become a little obsessed with it ever since the day I saw you wearing it in the kitchen.”

“Obsessed?” he repeated, his dark eyes glinting wickedly. “I like the sound of that.”

“So you should. I’ve thought about it far too often, about this intriguing triangle of skin I could see here,” she added, trailing her long fingers through the hair on his chest as she had dreamed of doing ever since that morning. To her delight, he shivered.

“What else have you thought about?” he asked, his voice becoming pleasantly low and husky.

She pushed her hand beneath the wide sleeve, sliding it up his bare arm and delighting in the feel of hard muscle beneath her palm. “About the brawny arms I saw that day in the garden, when you brought Gideon home, and how it might feel to have them wrapped about me.”

His eyes darkened as he gazed down at her and excitement stirred low in Maggie’s stomach.

“You mean to say you’ve been ogling me and thinking wicked things,” he accused.

“I’m afraid I have,” she admitted, trying her best to look remorseful.

“Thank heavens for that,” he said, grinning as he reached for her, sweeping her up into his arms. “It makes me feel a good deal better.”

“Why?” she demanded as he carried her to the bed.

“Oh, Maggie,” he said, shaking his head. “You would not believe the dreams I have had about you.”

“Really?” she said, instantly desperate to know. “Tell me.”

“I cannot,” he told her, his eyes glinting with mirth. “For then you will realise how very depraved your husband is, and I fear you will be shocked.”

“Oh, Larkin,” she said with a sigh as he laid her gently down on the bed. “I do hope so.”

He stared at her for a moment and then gave a bark of laughter. He tugged at the sash of his banyan and cast it aside with such abandon the sleeve hit the lamp on the bedside table. It wobbled and Larkin lunged, setting it upright again.

“That’s a relief. The only fires I want to start tonight are the kind to make you sigh and moan, not run screaming out into the street,” he said ruefully.

Maggie snorted, trying not to laugh, but then she noticed just what he’d revealed, and her laughter stopped abruptly. Instead, her heart thudded hard as she stared at him, at the landscape of finely wrought muscle across his chest and abdomen, his broad shoulders and powerful arms, and at the evidence of his love and desire for her. The fire he had promised her burst to life beneath her skin, her blood suddenly hot, her entire body blazing to life. She held out her arms to him, he came to her, and she revelled in the feeling of his flesh burning beneath her palms, of the sensation of hard muscle shifting beneath satiny skin.

He made a sound low in his throat that made her pulse leap as he tugged her nightgown off, over her head.

“Maggie,” he murmured. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for this, dreamed of it. I need you,” he told her, pulling her into his embrace and claiming her mouth with such passion it stole her wits.

The feel of his body and his hot skin pressed against hers made the fires blaze higher, and when he pressed himself closer, finding his place between her legs, she cried out in startled surprise. The sensation that rocketed through her was a bright shock of desire that made her forget everything but her need for her husband, the rightness of how it felt to be in his arms.

“I need you too,” she gasped, writhing against him impatiently. “So much.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands moving restlessly over him, sinking into his hair and sliding down his back to grasp his buttocks.

“Maggie… Maggie, love, slow down! I meant… I meant…”

But whatever it was he’d meant to do or say, Maggie did not know nor care. He had promised to set her on fire, and she was ablaze, an inferno, out of control.

“Please, please,” she gasped.

Larkin had never denied her anything, had always given her everything she could possibly need from the moment they first met, and he did not resist her now. He thrust into her, the sensation so exquisite and powerful she moaned and held on as if she might fly away if she were not anchored to him.

Larkin groaned, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply for a moment before he began to move, slowly at first and then with increasing fervour as she followed his lead. Dimly she realised that whilst she had known what passion was, what desire felt like, it had only been a shadow of what she felt in this moment. Now she knew what it was to love and be loved, not only with heart and emotion, but with body and soul too. She felt giddy with pleasure, dizzy with the frenetic joy of their union and yet she could not slow it down, could not deny it or try to savour the moment. There would be time enough for that, for slow love making and tender words, but this, this perfect burst of desire and adoration was everything she had ever wanted and needed, though she had never, would never have realised that without the man loving her now.

“Maggie,” he rasped, his breath hot and damp against her neck as his movements became erratic and faster. “Maggie.”

“Yes,” she said simply. She cried out as he shattered too, feeling the powerful shuddering of his big body as he abandoned himself to her, giving himself to her, to them , and she gave herself with equal fervour.

She closed her eyes, blinded by the starburst of joy, by the overwhelming pleasure of it as they flew into the skies, and returned to earth, still joined physically and in all other ways that mattered, forever.

8 th November 1850 Berwick Street, Soho, London.

“Are you ready?” Larkin asked, walking back into the bedroom as Maggie slid the last pins into her hair.

“I suppose so,” she said with a sigh.

“Well, I like that. After all the trouble I went to getting your manor back, now you don’t want to go!”

Maggie laughed at his feigned indignation, for she knew he was as loath to leave as she was. “I do!” she protested, getting up and walking into his arms. “I cannot wait to go home, and to show it all to you and have Giddy and everyone I love around me again. But I want you all to myself, too. I’m greedy, you see.”

“So you are. Never satisfied,” he observed, a glint in his eyes that made her blush.

She gave him a playful smack, huffing at his teasing. “And aren’t you lucky,” she said wryly.

“I am,” he replied, quite serious now. “I am the luckiest fellow that ever lived. Let’s go home, Maggie. It’s a place I’ve never been before, but I’ve been looking for it for such a long time I’m even willing to share it with all the others that live there too.”

She reached up and touched his face, staring at him, still astonished by how dramatically and splendidly her life had changed. “Larkin Weston, you are the most wonderful man, and I am so glad Gideon plagued you to death. I suspect you only married me hoping to get some peace and quiet, but whatever the reason… thank you.”

He laughed at that and pulled her close. “Strangely, I don’t think I’m going to get a second’s peace and quiet for the rest of my days, and I’m glad of it, Maggie. For all of it. I love you.”

And though the carriage was waiting, and they were already late, he did not miss the opportunity to prove that to her again.