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CHAPTER THREE

Henry

“This is ridiculous.”

“This is a ramp the carpenter constructed for you.” Percy jutted his chin. “And you are going to use it.”

I rotated my shoulder.

He merely shrugged.

Maestro eyed me. Damn horse had been excited to see me. Whether he remembered me after fifteen years was debatable, but he was clearly excited to be taken for a ride.

Mr. Wiggins and I had spent the past week reviewing all the ledgers, crop yields, and rents paid for the past year. For me to get a sense of where the money came from and how it was being dispensed.

We had gone over the list of tenants and farmers. Determined who would need to be visited first.

Hence the lesson on how to mount a horse.

“When I visit and do not dismount, it will be rude.” I scowled at Percy.

I appeared to be doing that a lot—even though the man did not deserve it.

“I will dismount, and you will remain on your horse, and you will converse with people and express your gratitude for the work they do for you.” He glared back. “Up.”

I pursed my lips.

He put his hands on his hips.

Maestro whinnied.

Which was, for me, the determinative factor.

With great frustration, I grasped the pommel with my left hand and hauled myself into the saddle.

And nearly vaulted myself over the far side.

“Steady there.” Percy gripped my waist. “Power is good. Too much and you’ll go over.”

“I can see that.” I might have snapped that.

“Yes, your lordship.” He was all grins.

In the week I had been home and he had been tending to my every need, his cheerfulness had not faltered. Even as he removed chamber pots, assisted me in dressing, and took care of just about every intimate need I had, he never once had a cross word for me.

Yet I was keenly aware of when I disappointed him.

More and more, I did not want to disappoint him.

I wanted the praise, which he showered on me when I did things correctly.

He always knew just the correct words to use to defuse any situation that threatened to spiral out of control.

He understood my needs—and my mind—even better than I did.

Always anticipating. Always helpful. Yet never overtly obtrusive.

He was always just…there.

“I shall never marry, you know.” I blurted the words.

He held my gaze. “And why not?”

“Look at me.” Again with my shoulder. I also pointed to my leg. “I can barely walk properly, let alone dance. Women require wooing. They wish to be taken out and treated like queens.”

“Well, firstly, not all women desire such things. Perhaps…well, your sister-in-law often felt confined by Crosswood. But not all women would.”

I began to speak.

He cut me off with a quick shake of the head.

“Secondly, not all women require dancing. Or require a man who flatters them. Many women want the steadiness of a man who respects her. Who wants to cherish and treasure her. Who will care for her. You, your lordship, are more than capable of doing all those things.”

I pursed my lips.

He grinned. Then easily pulled himself into Rupert’s saddle.

I was now steady astride Maestro, so we were off.

Three hours later, we returned. We had only visited a fraction of my tenants, but a sense of accomplishment settled in my chest. If we repeated this process every other day for two weeks, we would have visited just about everyone whose livelihood I held in my hands.

The awesome responsibility of being the earl of Hartridge had never dawned on me because I was so far down the line of succession—my father, my brother, any male child he might have.

I had already dealt with a visit from the solicitor.

The man had pointed out I should marry and endeavor to produce an heir.

I waved off the notion, even as I acknowledged the truth. I had responsibilities and definitely needed to remain alive to fulfill them. A wife for the earl. A child—if not several—to ensure the continuation of the lineage.

“You must be tired, my lord.” Percy had dismounted and now guided Maestro to the ramp so I could finally unseat myself.

My arse ached, although this was not even close to the longest period of time I had ever spent in a saddle. Campaigns were brutal beasts, and I had been fortunate to be a member of the cavalry and afforded a horse.

With some difficulty, I managed to dismount.

Although Percy was there to steady me, I did not wind up requiring his assistance. He handed me the cane he insisted I use. He argued gentlemen often used them. He also, less tactfully, pointed out if my thigh were to give way and I fell, that would be far worse.

He was not incorrect on that assertion.

Our groom took the horses away, even as I gave Maestro one last, longing glance.

“He remembers you. Now, let’s get you clean.”

Despite being astride a horse and the weather being clear, I still managed to accumulate a fine layer of dirt on most of me. The damp and chill from the incoming storm enveloped me now that I had stopped moving. “Yes, a bath. Then dinner. I want to test your knowledge of local lore.”

He grinned. He quite enjoyed our nightly conversations about all things British.

I had been in France so long, I had begun to lose my sense of home.

Perhaps an exaggeration.

I had bought my commission just before Britain declared war on France.

Perfect timing.

My days of being a rake were to be behind me.

Well, except for the occasional dalliance on the continent.

I fought in France and, when France declared war on Portugal, I was part of the fight in Lisbon. Only to return to France.

When Napoleon was exiled to Elba, I believed I would come home.

Only to have him escape and continue the war.

Until the decisive victory at Waterloo.

Where I had suffered my injury.

Timed to coincide with the end of the war.

Apparently timing was never on my side.

Twelve years of war. Somehow, against all odds, I survived twelve years of war. Many men I had known died. I eventually commanded soldiers—many of whom died as well. I carried that knowledge with me.

From a man who took nothing seriously—including women’s virtues—to a commander responsible for ensuring his men returned to Britain alive.

More failure.

I attempted to shake off the dark thoughts.

“My lord?”

I met Percy’s crystal-blue eyes. Read the concern. In turn, I cleared my throat. “Bath.”

“I shall see it done.” He sprinted ahead of me—which had not been my intention. However, if that action resulted in me being able to sink sooner into the steaming water of a bath, I had no complaints.

My steady steps carried me to the mansion. Steady thanks to the cane.

Blasted Percy .

Except he was correct far more than not. For a former footman who was now a valet, he was extremely well read. His education had carried on longer than most children’s. When formal schooling ended, his father asked my father if Percy could read the books in our massive library.

Apparently my father had been so surprised at the request that he had agreed.

Mr. Dankworth had been my father’s cherished butler until Father’s passing ten months ago. At that point, Mr. Dankworth had taken his retirement, choosing to move into a cottage on our property.

With a woman he recently married—Percy’s mother having died more than a dozen years ago.

We had not visited with the elder Dankworth today, but I intended to. The man was one of the last tangible connections to my father.

Upon his leaving the post, Mr. Fortescue had taken on the reins of the household. Having been trained at Mr. Dankworth’s side, the man had been ready for the responsibility and, if Wiggins was to be believed, was competent.

My own eyes had shown me as much.

By the time I reached Crosswood Hall, my thigh burned, and the thought of climbing those stairs nearly brought tears to my eyes. I would not, of course, cry. Hastings did not cry. The Earl of Hartridge would never be seen weeping.

Still, by the time I reached my room, my limp was pronounced, and I nearly fell into the chair.

Percy entered moments later and clucked his tongue.

I rolled my eyes.

He moved to my feet and immediately removed my boots.

For reasons I could never quite explain, that alleviated my thigh pain.

Well, a modicum.

“We shall get you undressed. Perhaps a glass of wine while I prepare the bath?”

“All right.” I felt he was often stingy with the wine and so smiled when he offered me a glass.

By the time he assisted me into the bathtub, I was pliant. The fragrant water seeped into my muscles within moments, and I exhaled loudly.

He chuckled. “I shall return.” He scooped up my clothes and departed.

Affording me a view of his luscious buttocks.

Buttocks I had noticed on more than one occasion.

Which triggered a longing deep within me.

For the companionship of a man.

Which made no sense as I had never been intimate with a man. I noticed the attractiveness of some men, but had never acted upon that. Even during my time in the army, I had not gone to a man’s bed. Certainly, though, I had taken advantage of every willing woman’s bed I could.

Remembering my days of making my way through the ton in London during the three seasons I was there brought a feeling of shame.

Well, a modicum.

I never left a young woman with child. Although I had my wicked way with quite a few—fucking with reckless abandon.

After Caroline, I wanted to inflict as much misery upon others as she had wrought upon me.

The memory of her demure smile when she turned down my proposal—assuring me that my age was the determining factor.

I had been nineteen.

She was twenty-two.

I had not understood what age had to do with the acceptance or rejection of my proposal. I brought her home, my father had approved of her, and I asked her to marry me.

She refused.

Two days later, she and William announced their engagement.

I had cursed their marriage. Then, the next day, left for London to begin my dissolute life. Bedding women and behaving poorly at every opportunity.

Obtaining the reputation as a rake.

Being quite proud of that reputation.

Until my father, tired of my antics, cut off my allowance entirely and barred me from our London townhouse.

I took the money I had left and bought my commission.

My horse and I headed to France.

Then spent the next twelve years fighting the French.

The damned horse had been shot out from under me in the final battle.

Now I was staring at my valet’s buttocks and remembering how I enjoyed the company of women and wondering what might have happened, had I brought a man to my bed as well.

My body reacted.

Great. Now? After months of nothing, you choose now?

At this moment, I truly did want to weep.

First, that the timing could not have been worse.

Second, out of relief I could still get hard. I had begun to wonder.

“My lord, are you ready to have your hair washed? Are you adequately relaxed?”

Not on your life. “Now is not a good time.”

“Perhaps later, after you have rested.” Ever perky Percy.

Huh. Alliteration.

And was not the issue at hand. I sighed.

In an instant, he was by my side. “My lord?” He did a thorough examination of me from the tip of my toes to my eyes.

Then returned his attention to the problem. “Well, that is interesting.”

You have no idea.